


Unbound

by pterodactylichexameter



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 59,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9108961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterodactylichexameter/pseuds/pterodactylichexameter
Summary: It's been weeks since Nesta arrived at the Night Court and she's still not used to her new body. Or Cassian's constant presence as he trains her and Elain. She knows she has to face him, face what she's become, but it's easier to pretend there's nothing going on. After all, he's still healing too.The Cauldron rendered Nesta and left a piece of itself in her, ruthless and destructive. This is the story of how Nesta put herself together again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been... months in the making and I'm so excited to finally share it! ETERNAL GRATITUDE to cuddles-and-chocolate-cake for reading even in its earliest stages, Kaya for screaming with me, reading this at work (I see you Kaya), and MAKING THE LOVELY CHAPTER GRAPHICS, and finally to Lauren for fly handing this before she even knew what it entailed and always being willing to write together  
> This fic wouldn't be anything without all of your help!!
> 
> Also note that the rating is T right now but will work its way up to E

 

Nesta eyed the Illyrian before her with distaste as he crossed the training yard, barking a quick order at his troops spread in erect lines before him.  Shivering, she rubbed at her arms in the brisk cold of winter still gripping the Illyrian Steppes. The attempt to warm up wouldn’t do anything, it never did.

She and Elain had already been in the Illyrian camp a few weeks while Cassian balanced training his troops with training the two of them and it’d been the longest few weeks of her life.  The hut--for lack of a better word--that she and Elain shared was, while admittedly in slightly better taste than the cottage they’d wasted away in, rustic at best and seemed to leak cold through the walls.

To say nothing of the fact that she had no interest in learning how to control anything rolling about inside her, even as Elain tried her best to follow Cassian’s lessons. Let her power destroy herself for all she cared, it didn’t matter anymore anyway, not with the days melting into each other and Feyre still gone.  They didn’t belong in their home back across the wall any more than Feyre had when she’d shown up on their doorstep. Here was no better. A place to reside until they found somewhere more permanent.

Mor had tried to calm them that first night back, when she’d winnowed them into an unfamiliar house in their dripping nightgowns.  The fae word, as clunky and awkward in her mouth as they were in her mind, had her cursing herself for beginning to integrate herself in their world. _Theirs_ , not hers. Just because she could snap a man’s neck without lifting a finger and her ears came to soft points didn’t mean that she’d ever be one of them.

Rhysand had tried to help, later, after they were dried and changed. He’d attempted to make them comfortable in all their states of discomfort, mental and physical, but they hadn’t seen much of him since.

Not with all he was apparently busy with, readying his court for war.  He’d placed Cassian in complete charge of their training, much to Nesta’s chagrin.  Elain didn’t seem to mind his presence too terribly, even enjoying herself and the magic she could conjure up, but Nesta. . .

Cassian pushed her--pushed them both--with whatever means necessary, baiting her with barbed words that seemed to stick in her gut more than Rhysand’s ever did.  His approach with Elain was admittedly more tame, bordering on firm instead of antagonistic. She could at least hold him to that, but that didn’t mean she liked him.

The commander’s patience with her sister, however, seemed to be the one redeeming quality in a vast sea of annoyances.

So far there had only been one morning when she’d almost let her sympathy get the better of her, she’d arrived slightly early to the training yard and had seen him with his hand braced on the stone wall, wings quivering. They’d been bandaged for the first week in the Illyrian camp, wrapped tightly in cloth and the first morning he’d shown up with them bare. . . Her gut had wrenched at the sight of them, all silvery scarred and paper thin, smothered in some sort of salve.  But when she’d announced her presence, he’d only righted quickly, frowning, and growled that “I know I’m pretty, you don’t have to stare.”

He made it easy to hate him. As much as she didn’t want to for what he’d done, it was all too easy. Simpler that way, in fact. Because if she acknowledged what he’d done back in Hybern. . .

Most nights she’d wake, sweat soaked and panting from the depths of that cauldron, the oily black water that had filled her lungs, splitting her apart, staining her.  And she’d reach, gasping in the darkness. Sometimes Elain would wake, crawl from her bed across the room and slip under the covers with her.

It was easier to forget about what Cassian had promised on those nights when she could barely hold herself together.  To forget that when he’d been healing those first two weeks, he’d been alone and she hadn’t gone to him. Or said a word of thanks.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be around him because of what he’d said or done. But because of what she hadn’t.

Now, as she watched him inspecting the line of his troops, women and men alike, she shivered in the cold, listening to his orders carrying across the field.

The home they’d winnowed into after Hybern had been a maze of warm chambers that opened onto the edge of a cliff.  The Illyrian Steppes were. . . less than accommodating. Grey skies and a constant chill that seeped into her bones and wouldn’t leave, no matter how long she warmed herself by the fire at the end of the day. Bleak pine forests around the camp and mud between. Always mud, hard and frozen in the mornings, giving way under her feet by midday.

She almost preferred their cottage beyond the wall.

Almost.

Two warriors in Cassian’s troops suddenly leapt on each other in a snarling mess of teeth and talons and the commander stalked over. Perhaps another--Azriel--might have winnowed, but she’d never seen Cassian transporting himself in that manner.

The mere sight of Cassian had the tustling warriors breaking apart as their commander ordered them away, harsh voice carrying across the yard. Nesta had heard Azriel telling Elain that Cassian’s tactics were more humane than other Illyrian commanders were, but they had no point of reference to know if he was telling the truth or not (she doubted he was).  

Nothing about this camp was humane.

Nesta flicked her hair over her shoulder and sneered at the commander when he glanced over, a glare left from his soldier’s misdemeanor pulling his brows down.

His eyes held hers for a moment longer than she’d expected when he wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve, sweating even in the winter air.  He’d put his hair up that day, as he always did for training, and dark wisps fell over his forehead.

She didn’t break away, holding his gaze, expressionless.  He finally tore away to flick his stare down her body, over the Illyrian training leathers she wore daily now. Even though they were more comfortable in some ways than a dress, she still hated them, hated the way they made her look. Like she belonged here.

Cassian spat another order at his troops and made for her in long strides that made it clear to anyone who was looking on just who he was. That this camp was _his_. And all those here belonged under him.

He was never as rough with the troops he stepped in to train as some other commanders she’d seen, the men and women under him offering a different kind of respect than the fearful way they obeyed other’s orders. But respect nonetheless.

Nesta sucked in a breath, forcing her face blank, not moving even though he stopped with barely a foot between them.  His scent slammed into her: leather and sweat and cloves.

“You’re supposed to be practicing,” he growled. It wasn’t the same voice he used on his troops, but it was close enough.

Nesta crossed her arms, cocking her hip out.  “I think we’ve been over this. I don’t take orders from you and I never will. Apparently your head is too thick to grasp that concept.”

“My patience is wearing thin where you’re concerned,” he spat. “These aren’t my orders you’re taking, they’re Rhys’s, and he’s your High Lord whether you want him to be or not.”

She pushed at him, new strength she didn’t know how to control shoving him back a step. “He’s not my _High Lord_. I don’t need his or anyone else’s rule hanging over me and especially not yours.”

He strode forwards into her space again, until her back hit the stone wall at the edge of the training yard. “Do I look like a give a _shit_ about what you think you need?”

Nesta scoffed. “And you’re trying to tell me you _know_ what I need?” Of all the. . .

The Illyrian braced his arm over her head, ducking down until his face was an inch from hers. “You know what I think, Sweetheart?”

She paused, glaring up into his eyes. The eyes she didn’t dare to meet unless they were both fuming. _Let_ him speak to her like that. And then she’d show him.

“I think you need a great many things in life.” Her back was stiff but she didn’t duck away, even when his other arm braced itself on the other side of her head. “I think you need to learn that you’re not as important as you think you are. No one gives a shit that you’re having an identity crisis because you were Made. You need to get the stick out of your ass and just for one _second_ ,” his voice had lowered as he spoke, growing terser by the word, “realize that you are not the only damn thing that matters in this world.”

The burst of magic she’d been gathering exploded out of her, filling the air with such silence that the roar in her ears must’ve been the air collapsing inwards to fill the space she’d just obliterated. Cassian flew back, landing on his ass in the frozen dirt. She knew his wings were still stiff and sore, especially in the cold, and she hoped it _hurt_ (Elain in all her sweet kindness, had offered to rub oil into them for him, but he’d only responded with a laugh and explained why that wouldn’t be something she wanted to do).

Even just releasing that little bit of magic had tension lifting from her shoulders, one she rarely realized was there anymore.  

“Don’t presume, _Commander_ ,” she said, chin raised as he winced from the ground several yards away, “that you know what I need.” She strode forwards, stepping over his legs as the Illyrians around them looked on in stupor. “And don’t call me sweetheart.”

\--

Elain’s eyes were focused when Nesta returned to the small courtyard they practiced in, more a central area between the huts Feyre’s. . . friends apparently stayed in when they visited.  Azriel was standing next to her, watching a bubble of water float across the broken dirt of the yard.

When Elain glanced up, though, and saw Nesta storming towards them, her concentration fizzled and the bubble dissipated, splashing onto the ground.

“That was good,” the Illyrian was saying, nodding in approval. Elain beamed up at the hulking male, never one for many words it seemed, and Nesta grimaced.

Magic wasn’t what Elain needed, or any of them. Feyre. . . was a different story, but she wasn’t about to get into that.

“Cassian said--” Azriel began, looking at Nesta warily as she approached, as if he didn’t want to deal with her, even after all the darkness he probably handled on a daily basis.

“I don’t care what that bastard has to say about anything,” she snarled, grabbing Elain’s arm and starting to haul her away. She’d had enough. _More_ than enough of this shit, and she wouldn’t-- _couldn’t_ \--allow Elain here any longer.

Her sister sucked in a breath at Nesta’s grip and she cursed herself. Damned Fae strength.

“We can’t stay here anymore. We don’t belong here and we’re going home.”

“But Nesta--” Elain began, looking forlornly to the wet ground where her water sphere had been.

Azriel’s gaze flicked suddenly behind them and in the same moment, Nesta felt the air. . . change, as if someone had sucked the light out of the space around them.

She whirled, still grasping Elain’s arm, to see standing before her with shadows rolling off of him, the High Lord of the Night Court.

“Elain, Nesta,” he said clearly, as if bracing himself for their reactions.  “I hope you’re faring better than you were before.”  He took one glance over them, to Nesta’s arm threaded through Elain’s, the dark glower contorting her features and his eyebrows rose. “Or perhaps not.”  He seemed truly upset, and that only made it worse, that he actually cared about them.

“We want to leave, _now_.” Nesta said, glancing between the two Fae males.

The High Lord’s face seemed to collapse a little. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” He was thinner than he’d been before, face almost gaunt, as if he were ill.  “You’re safest in my court, under the protection of my Inner Circle.  As Mor and Amren are busy with me in Velaris and Azriel has limited time between missions, that leaves Cassian. And since he must be here. . .”

Nesta eyed him, blinking back tears of frustration. She’d heard the explanation before, of course, but repeating it didn’t make it any easier to stomach. Even if the dark circles under his eyes certainly seemed to indicate he was under a great deal of stress trying to get their sister back. Just because the High Lord was busy and Azriel was constantly on the move didn’t mean that Cassian of all people needed to train them. Or that they needed to be here at all, _trained_ at all.

She hardened. “My sister and I are none of your concern.”

The High Lord frowned. “You are both Feyre’s concern and therefore mine. If you won’t listen to me, then listen to her.”

“And _how_ do you suggest we do that,” Nesta snapped.

His patience seemed to be wearing thin, jaw feathering.  “Do you really think that your sister, the one who supported you. Clothed, fed you. That she would be so misguided as to not look out for your wellbeing? She and I can communicate as you know. She asks about you, about your safety.”

He began to approach, slowly, and Nesta’s grip tightened on Elain’s arm instinctively, stepping slightly in front of her.  “In those few, _precious_ moments that I am able to speak with her,” his voice had started to steel, “do you think she would waste time on anything she didn’t hold dear to her. She trusts me and my Inner Circle to see to your safety and your training until you’re able to properly use your new. . . abilities, and even then, we will still have your backs, no matter how you treat us.”

Nesta opened her mouth, but he continued.

“You have the strongest warriors in all of Prythian to help, the best available for your training, and I suggest, Nesta Archeron, that you take it.  Your sisters already have.”

Fury bloomed in the pit of her stomach, spreading fire through her limbs and she turned to Elain, who shrunk away.

Her own _sister_ shrunk away from her, as if she was frightened of what she would do.

Nesta released Elain’s arm as if it were suddenly licking with flames, clenching her fist. Her nails left four bloody pricks in her palm.

She swallowed hard and stalked away, the tears threatening to spill before washing hot down her cheeks.

She didn’t know what to think. Who to trust. Who she was or what to do.

And that frightened her more than she could imagine.

\--

Nesta was brushing her hair out from its braid later that night when Elain finally came back, smiling and saying goodnight to Azriel at the door. It left a bitter taste in Nesta’s mouth that Elain could get along without her, make friends that she couldn’t.

Elain didn’t say anything as she closed the door, bolting it shut, and Nesta stared into the hearth where the pine logs crackled with flames.

“I brought you back some dinner,” Elain said quietly and crossed the small room to set down a bowl covered with her handkerchief.

Nesta’s breath seemed to stick in her throat when she flipped back the fabric and saw the stew waiting within. Elain pulled a spoon out of her pocket and set it down.

Her sister was still hovering, waiting for her to taste it. Swallowing, Nesta picked up the spoon and lifted broth and a chunk of potato to her lips. She grimaced. “It’s cold.” As soon as the words fell out, she regretted them. After Elain had gone to the trouble of bringing her back something and she’d. . . messed up everything. As always, it seemed.

But Elain only offered a slight smile. “I think I can fix that.” She set her hand over the bowl and frowned in concentration.

Nesta just watched her, line between her brow, then down to the flickers of flame that seemed to pour out of Elain’s hand, a mere lick at first that grew unsteadily.

While Elain’s talents seemed varied enough that she could handle water and fire with growing ease, her true talents lay in creating. Growing plants, vines, flowers. If she wanted to, Nesta knew she could have seedlings sprouting in her footsteps, rose petals trailing on the ground before she tread on it. How appropriate, that Elain should be able to _create_ as naturally as breathing.

All Nesta seemed to be able to do was destroy. Sheer energy that seemed to crackle through her in an endless supply, shattering glasses, extinguishing the fire with barely a thought, sending anyone she wanted sprawling back in a concussive burst of energy. She’d even split the table down the middle when she’d been trying to hold in her frustration.

Elain suddenly yelped when a burst of smoke puffed up and the fire blinked out, leaving a layer of charred meat and vegetables on the surface of the bowl. She blushed slightly and withdrew her hand. “The smaller things are almost harder than the bigger ones, sorry. I tried.”

Nesta’s breath hovered in her throat as she studied her sister, the dismay on her face when she couldn’t heat up a bowl of soup without burning it, the quiet determination and caring that never seemed to diminish. If anyone ever took that away from her. . .

Nesta folded the burned bits back into the bowl, stirring it all together, steam rising from the broth. “No, you--you did good, thank you,” she said quietly and lifted a spoonful to her mouth. It tasted burnt but at least it was hot. She forced herself to swallow.

“Really?” Elain asked, face brightening a little.

“Of course.” Nesta took another spoonful, avoiding a blackened chunk of meat, what must have been rabbit. She hoped. “You’re. . . learning quite well.”

Elain picked up her handkerchief and refolded it. “That’s what Azriel says.”

Nesta kept eating, unsure of what to say, and Elain wandered away, towards their bedroom. “I’m going to sleep early tonight.  I’ll leave a candle out for you to see when you come in.”

Nesta’s eyes flashed over her sister’s back, over the Illyrian leathers she seemed so comfortable living in.  She’d always been better at adapting, at looking at what she’d gained instead of what she’d lost.  Nesta’s gut tightened. “You don’t have to do that.”

Elain turned back, smiling. “I will.”

Nesta sat, back ramrod straight, spoon still in hand. They’d been training for two weeks and what did she have to show for it?  She could spit insults that cut the commander as deep as she wanted them to and send him crashing onto his ass before he could think of retorting, but what of the power that seemed to grow with each passing day?

The less she used it, the worse it got, to the point where her head throbbed if she stepped out into the light suddenly, and her gut turned on itself when she stood. If this is what the rest of her life would be like. . . What eternity would be like. . .

Elain was making water spheres and heating stew and Nesta hadn’t been interested in paying attention to any word out of the commander’s mouth long enough to even know how to begin to go about accessing any of that power, or hold a knife, or throw a clean punch.

Rhys was. . . Rhys was right, as much as she didn’t want to admit it. And after today, when she’d released that energy, pent up for far too long, like a leak bursting in a dam, she’d felt. . . relieved. Like it was pressing at her insides, pounding at the inside of her skull until she loosened her grip on it.

It wouldn’t be so horrible, perhaps, to at least vaguely pay attention tomorrow. Vaguely. He’d never actually _know_ that she was slightly interested, not if she could help it.

That was the last thing she needed. For Cassian to think she was actually interested in what he might be able to offer her.

\--

The next morning when Nesta heard Elain rustling to get up from the small bed across the room, she didn’t dawdle as she usually might and lie in bed for a while, grumbling at the sun just starting to peer over the horizon. Instead, she waited until Elain had gone into the bathing room before she pushed the blankets off, only bothering to quickly splash her face with ice cold water from the basin. She dressed quickly in the cold dark, pulling on a loose pair of pants and shirt, then the leathers over those.

If Elain noticed that she’d gotten up quicker than usual, she didn’t say anything, only yawning when they stepped out into the morning chill to meet the commander for his morning break with the troops. The warriors had already been up for at least an hour going through drills. And when Elain pointed upwards. . .  

Seeing the entire battalion in flight was still unnerving, though not altogether unfamiliar at this point. Black bodies arced in different formations through the grey sky, a few individual shapes observing: the commanders.

“Despite. . . everything,” Elain said softly, eyes still turned upwards. “Did you ever expect we’d see anything like that?”

Nesta gazed over the army until she spotted a lone figure, dark wings noticeably larger than the rest, even from their distance.  He swooped through the formations on swift wings that pumped through the air in broad strokes.  If they hurt him, it wasn’t showing.  “I hardly think we should be romanticizing them.”

Elain squinted against the morning light. “Sizing up the power of someone doesn’t mean you’re romanticizing them.”

Nesta started, staring at her sister in surprise. Not that she underestimated Elain’s intelligence, but. . . sometimes she forgot just how aware her sister really was.

Elain’s mouth twisted into a knowing smile. “I think you know that best of all.”

Nesta followed Elain’s gaze to the commander descending from the sky, wings tucked close only to expand as he neared the ground, slowing himself.

But then she realized the implications of what Elain had said and threw a glare at her sister, who just smiled sweetly.

She was going to respond, but the commander landed a few yards in front of them, alighting on bent knees, flaring his wings before closing them. His dark hair was ruffled from the flight, cheekbones red with the upper air’s chill.  “Good morning Elain. . . Nesta, Sweetheart.”

Nesta bristled and for half a moment she forgot that was going to do this, actually go through with what he wanted to teach her.

“Good morning,” Elain said, apparently going to ignore her sister’s sly smile.

“I imagine you must have to physically drag your troops out of bed every morning.  I can’t imagine what horror it must be waking up to the prospect of a full day looking at your face.”

A broad grin spread at her insult. “I can’t speak for my troops, but the women who wake up next to my face seem more than pleased. The one’s who wake up with my face between their thighs, though, are the ones who have the least to say.”

Nesta hooked her arm through Elain’s, who bore an embarrassed flush at his words.  “Perhaps they have so little to say because of your mediocre performance,” she suggested and started walking, Elain falling into step next to her. “Now if you’d like to get out of our way, we have breakfast to attend.”

She could feel his eyes on her back all the way to the mess hall.

\--

At practice half an hour later, when the troops were performing their morning chores around camp, Cassian met Nesta and Elain in the courtyard between the houses. He was already there when they returned from breakfast, eating an apple as he traced lines in the dirt with his boot.

“I see Rhys talked some sense into you,” Cassian said to Nesta, taking a final bite and tossing the apple away where it disappeared in mid air.

Nesta glanced over him dismissively. “No one talked any _sense_ into me, least of all your High Lord.” Just because he was going through with this didn’t mean she’d make it easy on him.

“Regardless, we’re going to focus on distance today. Elain, Azriel told me you had some success with water yesterday so we think you should try that again. Nesta. . . just use whatever you feel you _need_.”

Her eyes flicked into his at the obvious jab at their argument from the day before.  He was staring at her with his mouth a firm line.

Elain followed his directions willingly, standing at the far mark in the dirt. Nesta trudged over to her line a few yards away, head throbbing and fingers already stiff with the morning cold. The prospect of releasing what pushed at her from within was almost intoxicating. Even her muscles had started to ache with the effort of controlling herself as of late.

She shifted from foot to foot, toes numb even through her woolen socks.

Cassian was watching Elain concentrate, hands outstretched.  As if it couldn’t help itself, a curling vine broke out of the earth at her feet, winding around her leg before slowing in a coiled tendril at her calf.

If gentle Elain could control the powers that ached within them, then it couldn’t be so hard, could it? Nesta grounded herself, gut rolling, not from excitement. . . but anxiety. Who was to say she could do anything but break everything? That’s what she seemed best at, anyway.  She’d already shattered so much in her life, what if that magic decided for once that when she touched it, let it break free of her, that it would break her too?

Nesta let out a huff, breath leaving a little white puff, and reached down through her power, letting it shift through her fingers like smoke. It quivered at her touch and when she glanced up, Elain’s tendril of water was snaking across the ground, and when it dipped low enough to touch the hard earth, it left blooming patches of moss in its wake.

Nesta frowned and dug deeper, sinking mental talons into the heart of that power, willing it to do her bidding. But it only hissed and arched, like a prodded cat.

And then she could _feel_ his eyes on her. “Nothing, Nesta?” His question was a seemingly innocent one, laced with barbs.

“I just don’t see how this is relevant to anything,” she said stiffly, blindly reaching for a trickle of water, a flame, _anything_. Anything other than the abstract, blinding power that gnawed at her insides.

The commander seemed to read her expression because he chuckled, amused at her discomfort.  “You don’t know how to, do you?”

Her cheeks were red with fury and she glared at him. “You’re the biggest ass I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting in my entire existence.”

“I’m sorry, do you _need_ my help with something?” He had a wolfish grin plastered across his face and she wanted to slap it off of him.

She snarled at him instead, stomach hot with frustration and embarrassment. Of course on the one day she decided to try, he’d make fun of her for it. What a disgusting low life, constantly insulting her, having a part in turning her into this. . . thing in the first place, and then putting her down for it.  For once, Nesta was growing tired of fighting back, frustrated and cold and tired from the lumpy beds, and just wanting, so desperately wanting, to go _home_.

“Sweetheart, are _going_ to ask me for help or stand there looking like a fool? I’m not opposed to begging.”

Nesta snarled, hackles rising. “I’m _going_ to rip your balls off, you _prick_!”  Her palms were stinging again, nails pressing into her skin.

He didn’t retort that time, only standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest, grinning smugly.

And it was then that she’d realized that magic was seeping through her skin, the air around her shining with something _other_.  Even still, she could feel it hissing out of her, coiling, snaking out into the world to do with as she willed. It skittered over the earth in all directions, like a shining grey fog. Her surprised look hardened, though, when it reached Elain’s moss, wilting it, turning it brown and dry. Sucking the life out of it.

Why was she surprised.

As soon as she lost her control, shoulders sinking slightly, the magic dissipated, leaving them standing in the yard with nothing but a few patches of brown moss and Elain’s vine that had grown brittle and dry, cracking when Elain shifted.

But she seemed exactly the opposite of sad that Nesta had killed her plant. She only beamed, exclaiming brightly that she’d _done it_.

Even though she could feel the ache in her head ease slightly at the release and she didn’t quite feel so jittery anymore, she couldn’t manage a smile back to her sister. She only steadied her breathing, facing the commander.

“You did that on purpose.”

“Actually I’m a prick to you just because I enjoy it. You accessing your magic was just a bonus.”

She huffed out a breath. “Of course you enjoy it.”

“Now that you know how to get to it, though,” he said, striding over to her. “It’ll be easier to return to.  This,” she jolted when he placed his hand over her abdomen, fingers splayed wide, “this is where it’s best to pull from when you’re starting out.  This is where you _feel_ things--anger, sadness, lust. It’s easiest to use as a connecting point between you and your power.”

He drew his hand away and Nesta stiffened.

“When you’re excited in any capacity, positive or negative, the mental barrier that exists between you and your power dissipates, making it easier to access, hence. . . why that happened when you took the bait.”  He was actually talking to her in a normal voice, explaining, gesturing, and she wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“I didn’t _take the bait_ ,” she insisted slowly, almost relieved that they could argue like this. Because that meant she didn’t have to be alone with the concept that all she could do was eradicate and maim.

Elain went back to focusing on her own water stream but the commander still stood by Nesta. “I think screaming at me about what you want to do to my balls is the very definition of taking the bait.”

And there he was again, the male she was used to dealing with.  “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I care about what you have down the front of your pants,” she scoffed.

He lifted his hands. “You’re the one who brought it up, not me.  That’s on you, Sweetheart.”

Nesta pursed her lips, glaring up at him.  “Fine, then, I brought it up. Don’t you have more important things to do than to stand here and _loom_ over my shoulder?”

“Well, no, but you _like_ arguing with me.”

“Try again. The only person I _detest_ more than you. . .”  She drifted off, stiffening at the memory of the one person whose company she’d turn down for Cassian’s. But that was a different kind of hatred. Her hatred for Tomas Mandray . . .

She’d barely said anything and she knew he realized what she was thinking about. Could see the hardness written on her face.

Cassian’s eyes flashed with sudden disgust.  “That bastard deserves every ounce of hatred in your body,” he snarled.

Nesta shuffled, frowning. “And he has it.” For once they were in agreement.

There was a moment of silence between them, and Nesta was about to turn away, when he spoke up, surprisingly soft.  “I sincerely hope, Nesta, that I don’t bear the same hatred that he does, and that I never do.”

Nesta met his eyes, hazel, nearly green in the morning light.  And she knew that despite his arrogance, his stubborn pride, the way he could get under her skin, that he would never be like Tomas.  She wondered, just for a moment, if he thought she blamed him for not being able to help her and Elain escape the mouth of the Cauldron.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Elain grows vines and flowers over their cabin at the Illyrian camp, Nesta has to confront the inevitable source of her own newfound powers. It's Cassian's infuriatingly constant presence that gives her solid ground, and she doesn't quite know what to make of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several things:  
> 1\. Thanks to Kaya (blackbeak on tumblr) for the beautiful graphic!! 
> 
> 2\. look at this amazing art inspired by chapter one! [Nesta and Cassian](http://blogtealdeal.tumblr.com/post/155174374863/made-some-fanart-inspired-by) and also some [Nesta and Elain](http://alltheplayersintheunfinishedgame.tumblr.com/post/155201492253/elaine-and-nesta-i-started-reading-a-fic-from)!!
> 
> 3\. Also... spot the Hamilton reference ;)

 

Not surprisingly, Nesta’s temporary peace with Cassian lasted all of half an hour that day before they were back at each other’s throats. And maybe part of it was to help her access her magic, but. . . she wasn’t going to pretend that them bickering the whole afternoon didn’t make it easier to handle. If he saw anything in her face, saw the disgust she bore for her own abilities, he didn’t say anything.  He’d push her as much as she let him, but if she snapped too hard, or wouldn’t respond at all, he’d back off until she’d pulled herself together.

They never spoke about it, never addressed it, but that line remained steadfast between them.

He was something to push back against to ignore the self hatred that bubbled up all too easily. At what she was. What she’d become. Part of her was grateful that she could fight against him instead of herself sometimes. But the prospect of ever showing her gratitude. . . she didn’t want to face that just yet.  Even when she knew that the longer she waited to face him, the worse it would get.

As the days passed and she could access her power more and more efficiently, it grew increasingly difficult to categorize whether or not she was proud of herself for learning to master it or revolted with the destruction at her fingertips.  

Using it during lessons would inevitably have her feeling more empty than ever, even when Elain grew excited for her, at what she could accomplish. But however ill using it made her feel, the physical repercussions of keeping it tethered were. . . even less desirable.

At least using her power consistently meant her headaches had faded and she no longer woke quite so much during the night, thrashing with pent up frustration and energy. A small consolation.

One afternoon, Elain had grown an entire wall of woven vines so thick not even the sword strapped down Cassian’s spine could break through it.

When he’d glanced to Nesta, beckoning her to give it her best shot, all she’d had to do was give it a firm glance, willing it to collapse in on itself.  

The air had given a shudder before the nearly foot thick mass extending across the length of the entire yard had disintegrated in a single breath, leaving nothing but a few stray leaves in its wake and the concussive blast of sound. Not from the structure falling, but from the air filling the empty space where it’d been.

Even Cassian’s eyes had widened slightly at that and she’d felt his gaze on her for the rest of the day, studying her, asking questions about exactly what it’d felt like. What her _power_ felt like.

“Where did you send it?  A pocket somewhere?” he’d asked in the first few moments after the wall’s disappearance.

Nesta’s blood had chilled when she realized that was his first assumption. What someone should _normally_ be able to do. “I told it to die and it did.”

“But surely it’s sitting somewhere. Somewhere else, you can’t just--”

She’d hid her trembling hands in fists. “Well I did, aren’t you happy? It’s not just sitting somewhere we can’t see, it doesn’t _exist_ anymore. Congratulations, you have a monster for a student.”

He’d tried to protest, tried to say that he was just trying to _understand_ , and she’d run.

She never ran from her problems, but she did then.  What kind of life would she have if this was what she was resigned to? Destruction to keep herself from going mad? What a choice to make.

So instead of fighting, of standing up to Cassian and spilling why she dreaded his lessons, why their bickering was the only thing that held her together during the day, she hid.

It was easy to fall into the motions of preparing food, even as she saw it over and over again: the massive snare of vines blinking out so easily, so quickly, that she’d even been surprised herself. All she’d had to do was will it into inexistence and it’d gone. That kind of power. . . She didn’t want that on her hands.

Instead of facing just what that meant for her, panic threatening to rise past the knot in her throat, she shut herself in the cabin and made dinner for herself and Elain with jerking motions, slamming the pot lid down and cursing wildly when she dragged an armload of firewood in from the back door, scraping her fingers in the process.

When the door opened, she didn’t bother turning around as she leaned over the pot, stirring what she’d managed to scrape up from the kitchens for themselves. “I made dinner so we don’t have to--” She turned, wiping her hands on her shirt and started at the sight of Cassian standing just inside the door. He’d freshly bandaged the end of one wing near a talon, as if it’d broken open in the raw cold, the rest gleaming with whatever salve he used in the evenings.

“Can I come in?”

She eyed him, not smiling. “You’re already inside.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. . . I am. Elain is eating with Azriel tonight and--”

“Is there something wrong with the mess hall, Commander?” she said stiffly. The title was a low blow and she knew it. _He_ knew it.

She didn’t know what he was doing here, but being alone with him. . . Alone their arguments felt different, like they were less of an act.

“There’s nothing wrong with--” and then he frowned, seeming to realize that they’d get nowhere if they kept bickering, because he cleared his throat. It felt odd to have him here in the house that she and Elain shared. It was difficult enough making it feel like home with just the two of them. Having him here, in the space they’d roped off for themselves, seemed almost an intrusion.  “I think I can help.” His voice, quiet as it was, seemed to fill the room.

Nesta stiffened. “I don’t need anyone’s help, least of all yours, so--”

A line deepened between Cassian’s brows and he shoved his hand through his hair. It looked darker than usual, as if he’d just bathed and it hadn’t completely dried yet. “Don’t pull that with me, Nesta.”

She stopped protesting at the sound of her name and thought back to the last time they were alone. It felt like centuries ago, back on her family’s estate. When she’d let him close enough and he’d seen straight through her.

After a moment, he continued.  “Can I please just--Can we just sit and talk about this like civilized people?”

“I still don’t know why you’re here,” she started, shrugging and crossing her arms dismissively. “If you think that we should just--”

“I’m talking about your powers.”

She froze at that, gaze floating somewhere between the bandage on his wing, around one talon, and the floor. “What about them?” If he wanted to try to console her somehow, that she wasn’t a beast for what she could do. What it seemed like more and more that she _had_ to do to keep from. . . exploding, then she didn’t want to hear it.

“Azriel and I have been talking,” he said taking a step forward into the room. The last time they’d been alone, she’d let him come. This time, though, she backed up with his approach. He froze, the distance between them holding firm.

“You’ve been talking to Azriel about me?”  She was not some _mystery_ , some patient to diagnose and fix.

Cassian let out a huff. “Nesta, your magic, neither of us have ever seen anything like it before. We’ve never. . . we don’t have any experience with the powers of someone who’s been Made by the Cauldron before and--” He shifted, as if he’d planned this out and then forgotten everything the minute he’d stepped through the door.

“Get to the point,” she hissed, avoiding his gaze. There would have been a time when she wouldn’t have been afraid to meet his eyes. When she would have welcomed the chance to challenge him.

“We think your powers came directly from the Cauldron.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. Did he think this was funny? That she kept herself occupied half the time just so she wouldn’t have to face the wandering memory of the black, oily depths of that damned cauldron? Or that she didn’t hate that part of herself just a little bit more with each passing day?

“I’m trying to say that we think the cauldron gave you some of _its_ powers,” he amended, speaking clearly, and Nesta paused at that, waiting for him to continue. “He and I have. . . discussed the idea before, but up until today, there was no way to know for sure. There’s _still_ no way to know for sure, but--”

Her heart paused in her chest and she had to grasp the back of the chair in the effort not to stumble at the realization that hit her smack in the face. “So there’s a chance I could. . . be Unmade,” she asked quietly, for once daring to meet his eyes.

A flash of pain, sympathetic pain, but pain nonetheless, flashed across his face. “I don’t think you should. . . you shouldn’t hope for that.  It’s just a theory, we don’t even know if you could,” he was speaking to her so gently, as if she might run at any prompting.

Even just thinking about the Cauldron had the power inside her thrashing, as if it knew what it really belonged to. The Cauldron, the damned Cauldron.

It made sense, it really did. That she would have taken a piece of it with her when she’d choked on its water and emptiness.

She shuddered suddenly, stomach lurching as she ran for the bathing room.

“Nesta,” Cassian said, half following after her but she shoved past and only managed to make it onto the rough tile floor before she was on her hands and knees, losing the little lunch she’d managed to get down.

When she was done, trembling, a cold sweat on the back of her neck and tears pricking the corners of her eyes, she felt a hand on her back and lurched away from him. “Get out,” she murmured, voice rasping in her throat.

He tried to reach for her again, which was just worse, so much worse than if he’d left her. “Nesta--”

“I said get out!” She reached for the closest cloth, cursing herself and the mess she’d made and how her limbs felt so weak he could probably see her shaking.  She didn’t want him here, didn’t need him here. And he shouldn’t see her like this, on her hands and knees and trembling because the cauldron that she’d hated and cursed was a _part_ of her.

He was still standing at the door when she wiped her mouth, tried to rise on unsteady legs. He grasped her elbow, tried to help, but she shook him off, head beginning to ache again.  “I don’t need your help, why can’t you just leave me alone,” she insisted through gritted teeth.

Her stomach was already rolling again and she closed her eyes, trying to steady herself against the stand of the wash basin.  She just needed him out. Gone. So she could deal with this on her own. Where was Elain? She just needed Elain, she needed her sister, and not--

“It’s not necessarily a bad thing,” he murmured and she heard him moving around, rummaging. “That your magic probably comes from the Cauldron. With some training, you might be able to Make things. Or change them somehow, and--”

“Don’t do that,” she snapped, and he was finally quiet. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

She regretted the words before they were even all the way out.

They seemed to hang in the air between them, sinking into him, and she let her hair hang over her face, hiding from him because she couldn’t bear to see his expression.

Instead of fighting, though, he just dropped the towel he’d managed to find, to clean up the floor. “You’re right,” he said and she could hear it in his voice, that he believed it was his fault. “I shouldn’t.” His voice was colder, darker than she’d ever heard it, and she only managed to hold herself together until he swept past, the medicinal scent of the salve coating his wings stinging in her nostrils.

Before the front door had even slammed shut, she was sinking to the floor, sobbing.

Tired and frustrated and--

What was the point in hoping for anything anymore, not with who she was. What she’d become.

She didn’t know how long it was before she heard the door again, only this time it was Elain standing there, flushed, as if she’d run the whole way back. And the relief, the sight of her sister, only had Nesta crying harder as Elain sunk to the floor, murmuring something and pulling Nesta against her.

This didn’t happen often, but when it did. . .

“Cassian told me everything,” Elain murmured quietly, wrapping Nesta in her arms and letting her cry against her shoulder, arms curled between them. “About. . . the Cauldron. But it’ll be okay, wont it?”

Nesta tried to get ahold of herself, taking deep, shuddering breaths. “I-I don’t want it. We didn’t a-ask for this to happen, and--”

Elain stroked her hair. “But we’re still together, aren’t we? And Feyre seems to be managing all right.

Nesta sucked in a slow breath.  “We can’t know, though.”

“No,” Elain admitted, “but you’re getting better at controlling it every day.  And that’s a start, isn’t it?”

Nesta shut her eyes against the light worsening her pounding headache.  She didn’t know but it was almost enough that Elain was there.

It was enough for the night, at least, and that was all she needed to get through.

\--

The days seemed to ooze by, one at a time, hour by hour. She’d awake and tell herself that she just needed to make it until the evening, when she could fall into bed and forget about it all for a few measly hours and hope that she didn’t dream.

But when her dreams did come. . . Before, the black mouth of the cauldron had haunted her. But now her dreams had drifted to a different sort of nightmare, one where her body didn’t exist at all. Where she could feel herself holding the slick waters aloft with hard iron arms. A body would drop, muffled screams bouncing through the water. She’d never see the figure’s face until the very end, when she’d overturn and Elain would spill out onto the stone floor, gasping and choking.

And in some ways, the nightmares were the least of her worries.

She’d expected Cassian to be colder, harder with her, but the next time she’d come to training and both he and Azriel had been standing there, he hadn’t given her a second glance more than usual.

Hadn’t given her a second glance in days.

The anger she could deal with. She’d always insisted that she’d wanted him to be quiet and leave her alone, to stop _bothering_ her. But in those days, the indifference, the fact that he wasn’t angry with her, not coldly passive aggressive. . . that was worse. Not caring about her was worse than being frustrated with her, even if she didn’t know why she cared in the first place.

And her powers from the Cauldron, _of_ the Cauldron, were just as ill behaved and unruly as before.  They seemed to _know_ that she was aware where they’d come from, as if they weren’t a part of her at all, but an invasion in her, body and mind. Something that could easily overwhelm her if she loosened the reins even just a bit.

Cassian and Azriel did their best to guide her through training, having her attempt to Make things of her own, Change them at will.  Her attempts were pitiful at best.

One afternoon after Azriel had handed her a sword, asking her to turn it into a stave, she’d only managed to melt it, spewing white hot ore across the yard in a bursting bubble of molten metal. The drops had rebounded right off of red and blue transparent shields that had popped up from Cassian and Azriel’s siphons, successfully avoiding Elain, but Nesta had been frustrated for the rest of the day, grumbling through the hand to hand combat Cassian always led them through after lunch.

Despite everything she was dealing with though, Elain was settling into her proficiency surprisingly quickly. Though she seemed to have most of the courts’ powers, it was no surprise to any of them that her abilities to grow far surpassed any other. While Nesta grappled with Changing, eventually managing to  turn a rock into a pearl, Elain could have a row of summer daisies sprouting out of the frozen earth in a manner of minutes.

And part of Nesta was grateful for the unbridled joy her sister had for her powers. And for her sister’s efforts at making her feel better. It was hard not to smile, to feel a bit of the hatred ache away when Elain was beaming at the wall of thick vines she’d managed to grow over one side of their house, blooming with icy white flowers, even in the cold.

The only joy, as bitter and shriveled as it was, her power seemed to bring was the way the rest of the camp viewed her.  Walking across the fields meant full grown Illyrian males giving her a wide berth, even if she was alone, wrapped in her thick cloak and shivering in the cold. No one dared touch her and even if they did. . . She’d have them away from her in half a second. Or completely gone from the world if she wished it.

She heard the murmurs behind her back at the nearly empty mess hall over breakfast. Word had somehow spread, though she doubted Cassian and Azriel had told anyone, of the girl with the power to Unmake you until you were no longer a person. Perhaps they’d guessed, had overheard. It didn’t matter.

At least they avoided her, that was all that mattered.

And despite everything that had passed between them, Cassian seemed proud of the progress she was making.  The few Illyrians who came to watch their training from time to time would stand on the sidelines while she and Elain practiced. And Cassian. . . He’d smile and shove his friends around, pointing out the new things they were picking up.

She still hadn’t met his eyes. She knew he was proud of her as a pupil, strictly on an academic basis. But she just didn’t want to know what his eyes might show when he looked at her as a person.

One evening after practice, Cassian looked them over as they were discussing what to do for dinner. “You two are welcome to join Azriel and I in the mess hall tonight.”

Nesta eyed him, the way he shoved his hands in his pockets waiting for them to respond.  

“Is that. . . safe?” Elain asked warily.  They were no stranger to the different kinds of males training in the camp. The ones who trained under Cassian were decent, keeping their distance if anything, but the others. . .

Nesta didn’t want Elain near the others with their leering eyes and entitled hands.

“I can assure you that my soldiers will stay in line.  I have little control over what this camp does while I’m gone,” he said as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth, “but while Azriel and I are here, you can be sure that I hold my men to a certain standard.  The other women training here eat with the rest of them, if that’s at all reassuring.  Regardless, Azriel and I will be with you the whole time, and even then. . .” He glanced to Nesta. “You’ve developed quite a reputation from what I’ve heard. I’d be surprised if anyone dared approach you.”

But Nesta imagined that there were some entitled males roaming the camp. Some who might think her a challenge.  They always existed and always would, no matter how powerful she might be.

Part of her hoped one would try to approach, just so she could see what would happen if she willed a living, breathing person into inexistence.

When neither of them said anything, Cassian offered a grim, half-smile, as if he knew what she was thinking, and left them to prepare for dinner.

Nearly twenty minutes later when they were heading towards the mess hall, Nesta threaded her arm through Elain’s. If they were going to do this, then they’d be invincible _together_.

Eating breakfast in the same place as hundreds of battle ready Illyrian soldiers was one thing, as most of them were in training by the time she and Elain arrived. She could hardly imagine what it would be like with the long wooden tables completely filled with muscled, winged bodies.

Even before they reached the hall she could hear the din: a mess of laughter, growling, and speech. Forks and knives clanging against steel plates as the Illyrian army ate their fill.

Though of course she and Elain had seen them around the camp, it was rarely all the battalions at once, never like this.  When they pulled open the thick wooden door leading into the hall, Elain took in a sharp breath, eyes wide.

The broad expanse of tables and benches were entirely full, the warriors’ wings clamped in tight to their bodies for space, a raucous crowd of Illyrians that Nesta thought she might take delight in tearing her way through.

After a few moments of standing, glancing around and wondering if Cassian and Azriel were already seated, she spotted someone making their way around the edge of the room towards them. Cassian looked like he’d washed, face clean and thick hair combed.  His training leathers were gone, replaced with a fitted pair of pants and a warm looking tunic.

When he reached them, he offered a warm smile, one that Elain returned and Nesta only glanced away from. “Ah, there you are, ladies, we’ve been waiting for you. If you’ll follow me, please.”

He placed a hand on each of their backs and led them back from where he’d come. As they walked, Nesta could feel eyes on them as the men glanced up when they passed, staring at the few women who seemed to inhabit the camp at all. Though they didn’t do anything more than look, her skin still crawled under their gaze.

One particularly broad male eyed her for a few seconds too long and she snapped her gaze to him, baring her teeth and growling. She brought her magic to the surface with a tug, the air around her quivering in response.

His gaze dropped.

Neither Elain or Cassian reacted, but when she glanced up and saw a sliver of Cassian’s mouth upturned in a smile, she cleared her throat and set her eyes dead ahead.

At last, they reached the far end of one of the tables where three empty spaces waited, steaming plates already sitting at their places.

Azriel glanced up from his food when they appeared and Nesta took the seat next to him, Elain climbing over the bench next to Cassian.

“As you’re well aware,” Cassian said, digging into what looked like a dry slab of meat and boiled vegetables, “the food is nothing to celebrate, but it gets the job done.”

Nesta, though didn’t care, her stomach rumbling. Ever since she’d been actually trying in her training, she’d been positively ravenous, so much so that even the mediocre food was starting to taste good simply because it filled her stomach.

Elain, sitting across the table from Azriel, asked him a quiet question he had to lean in to hear, and then he was nodding, replying quietly over the din of the room.

“Tear off anyone’s balls on the way here?” Cassian asked conversationally from across the table.  He wasn’t grinning as he usually might when prodding her like this.  But the smile he did offer, almost tentative, as if he were begging her to trust him. . . That smile made her gut twist.

She didn’t blame him for what had happened in Hybern. In the darkest moments she’d had, the horrors those first few days had been, when she’d cursed at everything, everyone, she’d never even thought of blaming. Or that he’d done anything less than uphold his promise to protect her and her family. But how was she supposed to _say_ that? Or that what she’d told him nearly a week ago, that he shouldn’t make promises he shouldn’t keep. . . that hadn’t been true.

She  was well aware that she knew how to shove people away and how to make it hurt. She just wasn’t used to it hurting her too.

“No,” she said carefully, taking a bite of boiled potato, “but the evening’s not over yet, is it?”

His smile broadened slightly at that, as if he were relieved they could still talk to each other outside of training sessions.  “You should stay here and dole out the punishments for disobedience. Half of the camp is already terrified of you. Maybe the Wing Commanders would be more inclined to respect their High Lord’s wishes if you were the one they had to answer to.”

A compliment as much as it was a jab.

Nesta straightened her back. “Not _your_ wishes?”

Cassian finished chewing and pushed the vegetables around on his plate. “My High Lord’s wishes are my own.”

“You’re the High Commander, surely your wishes--”

Cassian’s brows rose. “Despite my position, I still reside under Rhys. He trusts me to make decisions and relies on my opinions but it would be a mistake to think that we’re equals.”

Nesta frowned, but he continued.

“You can’t always be the most powerful person in the room, Sweetheart,” he only said, shoveling a forkful of vegetables into his waiting mouth.

Nesta snorted, cutting into the meat. “Can’t I?”

Cassian eyed her, as if he _was_ sizing her up to see if she really _was_ the most powerful person in the room.  But she pretended she didn’t notice his staring, or that he didn’t look at her power like it was something dirty just because it came from the Cauldron.

And despite everything, dinner was. . . not unpleasant. For all that Cassian had to be going through (she hadn’t missed the fact that the same bandage from the other night was still wrapped around one of the bottom talons of his wing), he was astonishingly lighthearted. At one point, he winked at her and flung a bit of balled up bread at Azriel with the end of his fork.

Elain’s eyes went wide and Nesta bit back a smile when the other Illyrian dodged it, glaring daggers at his companion.

But eventually he’d just gone back to his conversation with Elain, as if potential food fights were just an everyday occurrence where Cassian was concerned. And Nesta was almost surprised--even though she knew she probably shouldn’t be-- that Azriel and Elain were closer than she’d assumed, talking quietly between each other in a way Nesta knew she’d never quite be a part of as they smiled between them and talked as if old friends. Nesta was sure she’d never seen so many words come out of Azriel’s mouth in one night.

Cassian on the other hand. . .

She wouldn’t say she was quite comfortable around him, but he made it easy to forget that there was anything between them in the first place. He’d flick water at her and look away when she glared at him, reaching over to steal bites of food from her plate until she reacted quickly enough to slap his searching fork away. For a commander who oversaw his troops with unbreaking authority. . . he was playful, _younger_ almost around his friends when he didn’t need the facade of a commander.

He grinned openly at Azriel and Elain, but not to her. He’d smirk, yes, and give her sly, teasing smiles, but never anything more.  And she hadn’t realized how much _space_ he took up. He didn’t lounge about like some males, occupying space like they were entitled to whatever they wanted, he was just. . . _large_.

When he tipped his head back in laughter at something Azriel had said, Nesta’s eyes flicked over the width of his shoulders even without the bulk of his leathers. His sleeves were fitted enough that she could see the curves of powerful muscle beneath, the veins in his arm where his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow.

And his hands. . .

Her eyes followed the movement of one broad palm, gesturing as he spoke.  She stiffened at the memory of it, resting warm and heavy against her stomach.  The uncertain way he’d touched her back when she’d been on the floor, retching.

He’d just been trying to help and she’d shoved him away. Said so much that she made sure he’d _stay_ away.

Eventually Elain rose, pushing her empty plate back, and Azriel stood with her. The Illyrian offered to walk her back to the cabin and she accepted sweetly, taking his proffered arm.  Shadows danced over the two of them and Nesta realized that it didn’t worry her anymore, seeing Elain with one of them.

“More wine?” Cassian asked from across from her, lifting the decanter on the table between them and reaching for her glass.  Though he didn’t partake in any luxuries any other might assume with his title, dining at the same tables his soldiers did, bearing no estate, he seemed to bend the rules for the small things. Wine with his meals. The house closest to the training fields.

“Trying to get me drunk, are you?”

“If you get drunk off this watered down piss then I’ll be disappointed.”

Nesta pulled her glass back towards her, taking a sip. She was no connoisseur but she could tell it was. . . mediocre at best.  “I’d be disappointed in myself.”

A few moments passed when he topped off his glass with the rest left in the decanter.  

“If I asked something of you, Nesta, could you swear to answer it honestly?”

The question came as a shock and with no more than a blink, Cassian vanished their empty plates in front of him, along with the crumbs left behind.

“That’s one hell of an open ended question,” Nesta snorted, brushing an invisible speck of dirt from the table.

“Humor me.”

“Why would I want to do that?” She took another sip of wine, feeling the warmth flow sink into her stomach. It was weak, but she’d already finished two glasses.

He smirked. “Because you don’t hate me as much as you like to pretend.”

Nesta’s eyebrows arched upwards.  “Is that what you think?”

Cassian’s hazel eyes fastened onto hers. “I think you cover up how much you want me to take you to bed with all that bristly hostility.”

Nesta sipped at her wine.  “You should stop assuming that women are fatally attracted to you, Cassian. Arrogance doesn’t look good on you.”

“You’re not denying it?” He bore a shit-eating grin.  “That you want me?”

She watched his fingers idly spinning the thin stem of his wine glass. The power that he held, that his seven siphons channeled, was beyond her imagination.  “I’d sooner have rats eat the flesh from my body than I’d ever want to share your bed.”

The commander’s hazel eyes flashed into hers, and she stared back, taking a long draw from her glass. The warmth had settled somewhere low in her stomach, below her navel.  When his gaze drifted down to her lips, then to the parted collar of her shirt where the curve of her breasts began, something roiled to life inside her.

This was a different kind of arguing. Not seeking to bite or maim the other as had been the case before, but to tease. Dangerous territory.

“And how about _your_ bed?”

Nesta let a small smile play at her lips.  “What I do in my own bed is none of your concern.” She drained the rest of her wine and rose, suddenly realizing how much she’d drank with the motion.

He must’ve noticed the flush on her cheeks but didn’t rise to help her. Damn body of his. He probably couldn’t even feel the wine.  But she could feel his eyes on her as she stared down at him.  “Goodnight, Commander.”

“Cassian,” he corrected.

She smirked, leaning across the table and just as she’d thought, his eyes drifted down to her open collar, the perfect view down the front of her shirt.  Holding his gaze, she let her lips slowly form her next word, a low purr: “ _Cassian._ ”

It was only after she’d turned, halfway to the door that she heard his muttered curse when he realized she’d poured the rest of his wine in his lap.

**\--**

Nesta woke the next morning with an odd, rolling feeling in her gut.  She thought it might have been the three generous glasses of wine, but this was. . . different. She splashed her face with cold, brisk water, and set herself to face the day ahead. She’d only just managed to be able to regularly reach her power and she wanted to see what she could do with it.

Before, she’d been so wrapped up in hating what the Cauldron had Made her into that she’d ignored anything she could use to her benefit. But magic? Magic was tricky and she didn’t quite trust it, of course, but it would be stupid to ignore what her newfound powers might do for her. Elain had shown her that at the very least.

Though they hadn’t openly talked about their. . . transformation, Nesta could see the uncertainty in Elain’s eyes that had gradually developed into acceptance. That initial hatred, though, even in her sister’s gentle eyes had broken Nesta, made her angrier than anything the King of Hybern could ever do to her own body or mind. Nesta knew her sister better than she knew herself. She’d choose Elain’s happiness over her own every day of her life. . . and Elain _wasn’t_ quite mad anymore it seemed.

Nesta saw that flicker every once in a while, threatening to overtake Elain’s put-together facade, but she never let it overwhelm her.  Not like Nesta, fighting Cassian and everyone else tooth and nail just because she wasn’t satisfied.

“Elain?” she asked as they were dressing. “Are you . . . happy here?”

Elain glanced up from where she was lacing up her pants. “Why do you ask?”

Nesta huffed out a quick breath. “Just answer the question.”

Elain chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment before finally saying, “I’m not going to say it’s not different, because it _is_ , but . . . it’s not so bad as we thought, is it? I mean Feyre seemed--she seemed _happy_ with. . . Rhysand. Here we can _do_ things. Cassian is _training_ us.  You don’t train someone unless you think they have potential or they’re. . . worth something.”

“Worth something to _them_ maybe,” Nesta added, but Elain shook her head so she snapped her mouth shut. If Elain was disagreeing with her, then she’d shut up and listen.

“Nesta, I have a _friend_ here.  Since when have I had a real friend outside of our family? I _like_ Azriel. He’s nice to me and tells me things that I _trust_.  And I trust Cassian too, no matter what you might say about him.

“So yes, I’m happy here. It’s cold and this house is almost no better than our. . . hovel in the woods, and the food is _so bad_ , but I mean something here, and so do you.  We have choices here. _I_ have choices.”

And as much as Nesta didn’t want to admit it, she knew it was true. Here they didn’t have to rely on anyone for their safety. As much as Cassian teased and snapped at her, he was teaching them to be self reliant, more than they’d ever been.

He didn’t look at them and assume they couldn’t fend for themselves. He recognized her self value and anger and . . . perhaps his antagonistic ways weren’t because he detested the way she acted, that he truly disliked her agency, but because he saw it as something to push against to get _her_ to push back at him. That maybe he enjoyed arguing with her now not because of her principles but because of the way she dug her metaphorical (for the most part) claws into him.

Just as warriors took pleasure in a sparring match, he took pleasure in baiting her, and she. . . perhaps she felt the same.

Nesta blinked at her sister, still staring at her. “You know you’ll always mean something to me.”

Elain just gave her _that_ look, the one she so rarely offered, sarcastic.

“But you’re right,” Nesta added, then quicker: “But don’t you dare poke fun at me for admitting it.”

Elain smiled in satisfaction. “Why would I do that, dear sister?”

Nesta grabbed her cloak for their walk to breakfast. “Oh, Elain,” she just said through a mock sigh and they were grinning at each other on their way out the door.

\--

That morning when they walked back to the courtyard, chatting casually about the talk of snow approaching, Cassian was--surprisingly--not waiting for them as usual.

After a few moments of standing around, though, Elain inclined her head towards the sky. “There he is.”

Nesta turned over her shoulder to see the commander tearing through the sky, wings splayed, taught, on either side of him.

She’d thought she’d be eternally unsettled at the sight of winged men, but his approach had her biting back a grin at the memory of her little trick the night before. She hoped those were his only pair of pants.

But when he landed, wings pumping to slow himself in the air, Nesta eyed him and saw that he was perfectly stain free. Pity.

“Shall we get started then? The troops had me busier than I’d expected.”  He didn’t acknowledge her in particular, only setting them on their work for the day and standing back to observe.

He had them tossing berries at each other and stopping them in mid air, and when they’d gotten the hang of that, apples, followed by rocks. A steep learning curve if there ever was one. Most of the time Nesta ended up destroying it instead of stopping it, but Cassian only shrugged and said that if she wasn’t letting it hit her, then she was technically completing the exercise.

Just half an hour after they’d returned from lunch, Elain lifted a hand to her forehead.  “I’m feeling a bit tired today, I think I might be getting ill.”

Cassian frowned. “You can’t be getting sick, you’re a High Fae.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes, looking to Elain’s innocent expression, wide eyes.  “Not sick? Ever? But I feel _awful_.”

Cassian looked her over for a moment. “You probably just need some water and a nap. Magic can wear you out if you’re not careful. Why don’t you skip practice for the rest of the day and just rest.  Next time, though, you really should keep going.”

Elain’s face immediately broke into a smile and Nesta wondered for a moment if her sister was feeling poorly at all.  “Just this once, I promise.”  And then she was gone, glancing over her shoulder on her way.

Nesta was still trying to figure out why she’d faked sick when she felt Cassian’s eyes on her. “You owe me a new pair of pants,” he said.

She turned to him, deadpan, blinking innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yes you do, Sweetheart,” he growled, and she saw the smile on his lips, recognized that twist that meant he was _ready_ for this. Ready to have his teeth at her throat in a fraction of a second.

Nesta cocked her head.  “It’s considered rude to _tell_ other people what they think.”

Cassian took a step towards her and her blood burst into flames.

She swallowed, stayed where she was.

“I bet I can tell what you’re thinking right at this very moment,” he said, a challenge.

Nesta crossed her arms, nails digging into her skin through her sleeves.  “You have no idea what goes on in my head.”

“Oh, Nesta.” His voice rumbled between them, low and quieter, just for her.  “You’re thinking about how much you’re enjoying our lessons now.” He took a step closer. “How powerful you are now that you’ve wrapped your unbelievably thick head around what’s happening to you.”

Her jaw feathered at that but he kept approaching.

“How you’re actually worried about your sisters but you’ll say no such thing.”

Her eyes narrowed at that, keeping his gaze. How had he even--?

“You’re thinking that you may have been wrong about us.” He was so close, wings half open behind him, as if the excitement of fighting had him ready to spread them wide at any moment, either to intimidate or to take flight.  “But most of all. . .”

She knew what was coming but let him say them anyway, convincing herself that it wasn’t because she actually _wanted_ to hear the deep roll of his voice, telling her things that she’d remember later, when she was alone in the overwhelming darkness of her bed.

He was so close that he could’ve reached out and pulled her to him.

“Most of all, Nesta, you’re thinking about how much you want me to fly you to my cabin,”--his breath was so close she could feel it against her cheek--“peel off these clothes,” he plucked at the fabric of her shirt just over her stomach, “and f--”

“Commander!”

They both jumped and Nesta pushed away from him as if they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t. A soldier was running towards them, rolled parchment in hand. He was shivering in the cold, cheeks pink, wearing thin clothes that looked far out of place in the rugged, grey landscape around them.

“There’s been word from The Spring Cout. Rhys is--he’s gone, Commander.”

Cassian strode over to meet the man, taking the paper.

Nesta’s heart thudded in her chest as her brain seemed to catch up with her ears.

Word from the Spring Court. From _Feyre_.  It’d been. . . weeks since she’d heard anything. Beyond what Rhys had told her when he’d been in the camp the other week.

She could hardly believe-- So much time without word and now this? Her thoughts moved too quickly to process.

Because if there _was_ word from the Spring Court, then that meant that Feyre was making progress, that they might actually have a fighting chance. Stopping Hybern from destroying the world as they knew it, that. . .

Fire tore through her belly and she almost sneered in satisfaction at the thought of the King of Hybern suffering from what he’d done to Elain. What he’d done to _her_.

Cassian tore the message open and scanned it. The man stood, nearly trembling with cold. “When did he send this?” Cassian snapped.

“Just now. He would’ve winnowed here himself but--”

“I’ll be there tonight. Have everyone meet me at the House of Wind.”

The man gave a brisk nod, and then he was gone.

“I’m coming,” Nesta said before Cassian vanished too. “And Elain.”

Cassian turned, expression hard. “You shouldn’t--”

Nesta snarled, advancing on him. “If you think for one _second_ I’m going to stand around while my sister and her friends are preparing for war, then you’re the stupidest _prick_ I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

He stared at her for a moment, eyes flickering over her face, taking in the honesty and fervor she knew was leaking out of her. “Pack your things. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

\--

It took half that for her and Elain to throw their things in a sack, more than they’d arrived with but still nothing impressive. Cassian and Azriel came to their door with a brisk knock but they were already waiting.

“We’ll be flying back the old fashioned way,” Cassian said, lips thin.

She hadn’t seen him smile since that morning.

“If you think you’re carrying me like some maiden--” Nesta started, trying to cover up the sudden rush of fear in her gut with anger.

“We don’t have time for arguing. If you want to come, you’re flying with me, end of story,” he snapped.

Nesta glanced to Elain, who was looking a bit wan but crossed to Azriel anyway.  “Please don’t drop me,” was all she said before Azriel gave her a grim nod.

And despite the wrench in her gut, Nesta didn’t protest as the Illyrian picked her sister up as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour, scarred hands gripping her waist and legs.  Elain looked so small, fragile even, against the dark shape of his body, and it took everything in Nesta not to reach out and tear her from him, to keep her sister on solid ground.

Cassian’s voice drew her back into herself. “Ready?”

In another situation, he might have teased her, but nothing in his face read ‘fun’ in any sense.

She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and pulled her cloak tighter around her before stepping in close to him. “I don’t suppose I have a choice.”

Cassian’s jaw feathered and she felt the hard armor lining his forearms against her back before he swept her up with a grunt, cradling her against his chest.  “You always have a choice,” he said and with that, they were launching up into the sky.

Despite herself, Nesta let out a gasp at the tear of the wind through her hair, eyes watering.

Cassian chuckled when her fingers tightened on his shoulders with the drop increasing below them.

“Shut up,” she grumbled, voice lost in the wind. They were high already, and climbing still. . .

His dark wings pumped steadily through the air and she almost reached out to touch one until she remembered the implications she’d heard the other males joking about.

Once they were settled at an (alarming) altitude, Nesta peered over his broad shoulder to Elain, who, while she was huddled against Azriel’s form, seemed all right at least.

“Az is a good flyer,” Cassian said, leaning close to her ear so she could hear him over the wind. “She’ll be fine.”

“I _know_ that.” She ground out, but something in her eased anyway.  “How long is this going to take anyway? I’m cold.”

“An hour or so, best settle in and try not to enjoy yourself too much.”

Nesta huffed out a breath and tried to manage getting her fur-lined hood over her head with one hand.

“It won’t stay up in the wind,” he warned her, amused at her efforts.

“I’ll make it,” she said sharply, even though after a few tries, she knew he was right.

The tips of her ears soon began to ache with the cold, her nose red, so she tugged it up and pressed her face into his shoulder.  He didn’t say anything, letting her adjust until she’d nestled into the crook of his neck, the only place where the wind didn’t tear her hood from her face.

“At least I know you won’t rip my throat out while we’re flying,” Cassian said, voice low and deep next to her ear. The depth of it was different somehow, when she knew it was for ears alone and the world was under them.

Nesta breathed in and with the cold air came _him_ : woodsmoke and leather, something else beyond that, a rich blend of soap and cloves. His skin was so close to her lips, warm against her cheek despite the cold.

She half expected him to tease her, but the next words that fell from his lips were far what she’d been expecting. “You should know that I don’t know what to expect after we figure out the next few days.”

Nesta peered up at him, the rough growth of his stubble stiff against her cheek. “Is Feyre coming back?”

Cassian stiffened slightly against her. “She’ll fight her way back to Rhys however much it takes.”

“Because she’s his mate?”

His eyes were fastened ahead of them. “No. The opposite. She’s his mate _because_ she’ll fight her way back.”

“Do you have a mate?”

Cassian huffed out a breath, the lightest sound she’d heard come from his mouth all day.

But he hadn’t answered the question. “So you do?”

He was still silent and she narrowed her eyes, confused with his vague smile.

That really didn’t tell her anything. It was just a dumb smile, smirk really. What was that even supposed to mean? It was a straightforward question, yes or no.

“If I did have a mate, don’t you think you would have met her? Or heard about her? Or _him_ for that matter.”  

Nesta pursed her lips. “It was an honest question, don’t be a prick. For all I know, maybe you hate her.”

“Or she would never want to be with me,” he supplied, as if that solved everything.

She narrowed her eyes. “So you _will_ have a mate?”

“If the Mother is kind.”

“And if she isn’t?”

A small smile pulled at Cassian’s lips, a grim one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well then, Sweetheart, I suspect you won’t be rid of me as soon as you think.”

\--

Once they landed at the House of Wind and the tear of the upper air no longer dug its claws into the seams and breaks of her clothing, Nesta realized that the very air was warmer wherever in the Night Court they happened to be.  Even in the darkness of their arrival, she could see the edge of the cliff dropping far below, the distant lights of a city and the silvery twist of a river. It seemed. . . peaceful here.

Azriel winnowed away almost immediately after he’d set Elain down, giving only the barest of goodbyes, so Cassian had given them directions up to guest rooms they could use for the night.  

Nesta frowned when he’d told them when to come down for breakfast the next morning, as if they wouldn’t see each other until then, but before she could protest, he was striding away.  She figured he would at least walk them up to the rooms and she barely remembered the directions (up the stairs, left at the second floor up, and down. . . some hall?). Was he just going to write them off now?

But she heard the sturdy shut of a door in the distance and silence resonated across the stone balcony.

Fine. Let him get all high and mighty about his work.

They managed to make it to the rooms Cassian had described well enough, just a wall away from each other on a long, empty hallway. Guest rooms perhaps.  It was beautiful here, but too solemn, too. . . formal.

Elain shut herself in her room to practice her magic and Nesta tried to do the same, trying to Make the poker hanging by the fire into a flower. She’d managed to Make inanimate objects fairly well, but anything organic? All she ended up with was an iron stem of lilac, entirely solid and utterly lifeless.

With each new attempt, though, she could only imagine the group of Fae and Illyrians, Feyre’s friends, discussing battle plans that affected _her._ Affected Elain.  It felt odd now, made her fidgety, to sit aside like this. Made her sick to her stomach to think of the group of them downstairs, discussing, planning, while all she could do was practice something she didn’t even understand.

It was a few hours later, the sun long since set, when she finally wandered from her rooms down to the level below, dressed in a soft set of sleeping pants and a high cut shirt. She wrapped the throw from the bottom of the bed  around her despite the balmy air and padded through the empty halls.

While the house seemed relatively like a home, artwork and bookshelves along the hall, rooms tastefully decorated and arranged, she couldn’t imagine anyone like Cassian or Azriel living here. It was stiff almost, more fit for entertaining than calling a home.  Even their cottage had been more personalized thanks to Feyre’s small paintings.

When she strode barefoot into the long room next to what had to be the kitchen, she was surprised to find Cassian still at the table, the only one left, standing and frowning down at the papers before him. He didn’t even look up when she approached, peering over to the map spread across the wood, notes scribbled on papers, arrows and circles penciled in. The movements of an army.

“Where’s everyone else?”  Nesta said from across the table, breaking the silence that filled the room.

He glanced up, hazel eyes flicking over her. “I sent them home.”

“You don’t trust them?” she tested.

He snorted, as if it were so ridiculous he couldn’t help it. “They bear their own burdens in this court without having to shoulder mine.”  He shuffled through a few papers in his hands, frowning down and glancing between them and the map.

She saw, then, why Rhys had titled him the High Commander of the Night Court, what the High Lord had seen in him for the leader he was.  For all his teasing, his playful attitude, smirking faces and sly winks, this is what kept him up at night, his obligation to his lord and court.

Cassian looked up again, for longer this time, taking in the way she was staring at him.  His eyes were dull, tired, and he held his wings tight against his body, in anxiety perhaps.

“If you insist on dragging yourself through this,” Nesta said, lifting her chin. “You might as well enlighten me.” She gestured to the table that lie between them.

Cassian’s brows rose. “You want me to explain military strategy to you?”

“What, think I’m not intelligent enough?”

Cassian’s eyes flared to life. “Oh Sweetheart, if you were the least bit intelligent, you’d have been running for the hills the first time you met me.”

Fire flared to life in her, nervous and enticing all at the same time. “You’re assuming that I find an arrogant prick to be any sort of threat.”

A sly smile spread on his face, his first real one of the evening, and he leaned on the table between them. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

Nesta’s soft, dangerous smile never faltered.  “You couldn’t handle me saying any sorts of foul language in your ear.”

Cassian’s eyes were hooded and he shoved his hands in his pockets.  “Try me.”

Nesta took him in, the casual grace in the way he held himself, legs spread firmly on the ground he occupied.  His wings were massive, flaring out behind him in the sudden life that had overtaken the room.  She’d heard the jibes about wingspan between the other Illyrian males and for once wondered if they were true.  “I would prefer not to,” she simply said and looked pointedly down to the maps between them, dismissing this conversation.

“Always here to spoil my fun, aren’t you, Nesta?”

She couldn’t hold back a grin. “Don’t get used to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment :) 
> 
> Or come join me in trashcan on [tumblr](http://pterodactylichexameter.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the warmth and plush comforts of the House of Wind offer a temporary respite, neither Nesta or Elain can deny that they'll have to dive into the fray sooner than they'd like. When Cassian suggests that he take Nesta out on a separate training mission, she can feel the wall between them crumbling despite her efforts to remain distant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I was going to try and update on a weekly schedule... that obviously didn't happen. Now that I'm back in classes and working, updates will probably be somewhat sparse, so you'll just have to bear with me here...  
> However, this chapter is important to me for many reasons and I hope you enjoy it :)

Nesta awoke calm, entirely swathed in a mound of blankets pulled up to her chin. The sheets were softer than the thickly woven blankets of the Illyrian camp and warm, golden sunlight filtered in through the translucent curtains.  She’d slept entirely dreamless for once. No gaping mouth of the cauldron, no sounds oil-slick water sloshing in the back of her mind. And thankfully no hands tearing at her dress. Those sorts of dreams had lessened in the past months with other threats to consider, but they still hadn’t gone entirely.  When was the last time she’d slept through the night?

She let out a slight groan as she rose, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, stretching the tension out of her shoulders. 

And then the previous night came flooding back to her.

Cassian. They’d sat up long into the morning, discussing the logistics of the coming war. She’d brought up ideas with a fresh mind, things he would have quickly dismissed, maneuvers he worked into their plan to even out the bumps. He hadn’t seen her inexperience in such matters as a disappointment but rather an opportunity to expand their options.

Between the two of them they’d managed to come up with a reasonably solid plan assuming Rhys and Amren were successful in their efforts to gather allies (Nesta didn’t know much of Amren, but she gathered that whoever wasn’t convinced with Rhys’s diplomacy might just very well agree purely for the sake of not having Amren as an enemy).

And Cassian. . . he’d treated her as his equal, listening to her ideas, as fumbling as she thought they might be, as anyone who might bear the same rank as him.  He’d tease, of course, and poke fun at her when he could get a word in edgewise, explaining why some of her suggestions simply weren’t logistically possible, but never shutting her down without reason.

Nesta wasn’t entirely sure how to react.

All her life she’d spat on those who used their rank or status to look down on her family, fighting tooth and nail against anyone who assumed anything about the Archeron sisters. How was she supposed to react then, when she was on the other end of the spectrum? When she was the one who’d mistaken a man nearly broken by the world he’d been raised in, who’d had his wings, the very symbol of his freedom and strength, shredded almost to the point of no return. 

He was still a prick, of course, with his gloating and the way he’d push his hair back over his ears so the ends would curl slightly at his jaw. Definitely still a prick.

Nesta rolled out of bed with a groan, feet sinking into the thick carpet lining the stone floor. Though she’d brought all of her clothes from the camp, she winced at the dullness of them, wrinkled and piled next to a neatly folded stack that had been on the chair when she’d arrived, a nearly identical stack in Elain’s room.

She rifled through it for a few moments and washed her face before changing into a pair of loose burgundy pants clasped with a wide waistband around her hips and a top that only just grazed her navel.  After years of bundling against the cold, it felt almost odd to not have to fight it. To wear something that left her arms and waist bare and not be frozen stiff.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the dresser and paused, her breath high in her throat.  It was only then that she realized she hadn’t seen her reflection in months, mostly because she hadn’t wanted to.

The delicate points of her ears that she’d once striven to cover up with her hair were on full display with the knot she’d twisted at the back of her head.  Her form had filled out in the months training, collar bone not as noticeable as before when she’d been starving and thin. A bit pale, certainly, but strong.  And if the bodice was obviously constructed for someone with smaller breasts, well then, that would be Cassian’s problem instead of hers.

She didn’t know what time it was, but when she knocked on Elain’s room and found it empty, bed made and everything in order, she paused in the doorway. How long had she slept? 

Faintly, from down the hall, came Cassian’s vibrant laugh.

Curious, she followed the sound and took the back stairs that creaked slightly under her weight, emerging into a wide kitchen that looked out over a terrace, the edge dropping off the face of the earth.

Cassian and Elain were standing side by side at the woodfire stove, speaking between themselves.

“Ah the beast awakens, just in time to be the judge,” Cassian said with a wink over his shoulder.  She’d never seen him like this, in a pair of loose pants and white shirt so thin she could see the black swirling lines of tattoos across his shoulders and chest. He seemed. . . comfortable. No armies to command here. No cold to ward against.

Nesta crossed the room on quiet feet and peered over Elain’s shoulder, surprised to see identical pans on two burners, eggs filling each of the cast iron skillets.

“Elain here thinks that she can make the best eggs in Prythian. I on the other hand, have had centuries to perfect breakfast food.”

Elain just gave Nesta an innocent shrug as if to say “this is what I’ve gotten myself into and I’ve accepted that.”

Nesta’s brows shot to the ceiling at the commander, though, stirring the pan slowly.  “She’s going to blow your apparent cooking skills off the map, so I’d just be prepared to lose.”

Cassian shrugged, his wings shifting with the movement. “A blind test it is. No bias allowed.”

But ten minutes later when they were sitting on the benches around the table in the corner of the room and Nesta nodded to the steaming plate of perfectly seasoned eggs that were obviously Elain’s, Cassian groaned.

“It’s just because you’re sisters,” he said with a shake of his head, looking across the table at them in displeasure.

Elain and Nesta shared a knowing look before Nesta spoke. “Or maybe you’re just a shitty cook.”

Even Elain couldn’t bite back a smile at that and Cassian threw his hands up. “No one said you even had good taste in eggs. But all right,” he conceded, offering an exaggerated bow across the table.  “Elain you are officially the better cook. And your sister here, well,” he scoffed, holding his hand up as if to share a secret with Elain alone. “Well, she’s far beyond help at this point.”

Nesta rolled her eyes but she couldn’t help the ache of joy in her chest. Not with the three of them sitting there in the morning sun and Cassian the reason for Elain’s smile.  Still, in the back of her mind, worry knotted her thoughts. There was still so much to do, to prepare for, and Feyre. . . Feyre was still in the belly of the beast... but she was safe for now. And making progress with each day. 

Cassian caught her eye and she glanced away, pretending she wasn’t staring at the open collar of his shirt, golden tan skin smooth with black lines.  The nudge of his foot under the table, a question, ‘are you okay?’ had her withdrawing quickly. She struggled to heave the wall between them back up, not even aware it had crumbled. Once an impenetrable fortress of seething defense now. . .

This wasn’t supposed to  _ happen _ . Not like this. Not ever. She wasn’t supposed to look at him, the arrogant Illyrian commander, and see him for anything but a conniving lowlife who would never view her as anything more than a tool. 

She stiffened her back and dug into her breakfast.

\--

Later that afternoon, Nesta took her place at the end of the table next to Cassian, Elain to her left. While Nesta had made it clear she wanted to be a part of the decision making during the follow up meeting between the members of Rhys’s Inner Circle remaining in the city, Elain had only politely accepted Cassian’s offer at listening in.

Across the table, Mor and Azriel were eyeing the plan she and Cassian had drawn up the night before.  Although they’d just seen Azriel the previous day, neither she nor Elain had seen Mor since their journey to the Illyrian camp. She’d greeted them with a warm smile, a hug that surprised Nesta, pulling back to warmly look over her, making sure she was all in one piece. Azriel had merely offered Nesta a polite smile and a warmer one to Elain.

“This is a good direction to keep in mind for the long run, sure,” Mor said, setting the documents down, “but what about the Hybern beasts in our own territory? We got another update today. They’ve already ransacked another village.  We’ve already lost three lives and no one’s managed to take them down yet.”

Nesta frowned, her excitement at participating in battle plans dissipating like a slap in the face. Cassian had never said anything about imminent danger. . . So what if he didn’t even want her help at all? She was  _ not _ some innocent waif to trick into thinking she’d helped when she’d really done nothing.

Cassian, however, didn’t seem to look concerned. “Actually I was thinking I could take care of them. And I’d like to take Nesta with me.” 

Silence.

Azriel and Mor glanced between each other.

“What?” She didn’t even realized she’d voiced her incredulity aloud until every eye in the room turned to her.

Cassian continued. “It’s no secret that Nesta and Elain have significantly progressed in their training. I’d like to take them out, one at a time, to at least witness a fight with real odds. I’m not saying it won’t be slightly dangerous but what, there’s only two beasts that’ve been reported. They must’ve broken off from their legion, and you both know I could handle that in my sleep.”

Cassian hadn’t. . . there was no way he was saying--

“There’s a big difference between training in an Illyrian camp and fighting Mother knows what that crawled out of Hybern,” Azriel said evenly.

“Is there?” Cassian questioned. He was calm as ever, arm folded on the table in front of him.  “They won’t even be at their full power. This is. . . not ideal, I’m aware, but war is well on its way and we can’t waste time or opportunities that may present themselves. Sure, it’s a steep learning curve. But results don’t come from sitting around and not taking any chances.”

“I’ll do it.” Nesta cleared her throat, then said again, clearer: “I’ll do it.”

Mor didn’t look convinced, brow furrowing. “I know we’re pressed for time but would Feyre want--”

“I don’t answer to anyone but myself,” Nesta snarled. Feyre might have been. . . incapacitated but that didn’t mean she had to stop taking risks. In fact, Feyre’s absence as newly appointed High Lady of the Night Court  _ demanded _ action. Action that Nesta would push herself to take. 

“Nesta, are you sure?” Elain asked quietly. “If anything should happen. . .”

Nesta bit her lower lip, eyes catching with her sister’s and seeing the worry written there. If Feyre didn’t make it back . . . If she herself couldn’t stand against a few of Hybern’s beasts. . . 

_ If _ , if, if. 

A real fight. She’d get the chance to finally even the odds they’d been struggling against the weight of since. . . since that bastard of a High Fae had come to collect Feyre in the first place. It was a small comfort, the prospect of being a part of a movement against the King of Hybern, but it was something that she could  _ do _ . And the ability to even fight in the first place... that was...

_ They _ had given that to her. Rhys and Feyre and all their friends, and Cassian. . . he’d been the one to see it through, to spend those hours with them, teaching them how to use their powers for their own benefits, how to gut a man, how to send him to his knees if he so much as threatened her.

She’d fought it, fought the lessons coming from a man who she thought would be the one to do that to her. . .

And yet here she was. Sitting at his table, at his side, with power she couldn’t have imagined at her fingertips, a vicious bite waiting and ready behind her bark, all thanks to Cassian.

“There will always be risks,” Nesta said to Elain, but the rest of the table as well.  “And if Cassian thinks I’m ready, then I want to go.”

A broad grin spread on the commander’s face at her words and he clapped her on the shoulder. “Then we’ll hunt them down tomorrow morning and be back in time for dinner.” 

\--

That evening, Nesta was preparing for their journey early the next morning when a knock came at her door, three poignant raps.

“You know you can just come in, Elain,” Nesta was saying, but instead of her sister emerging through the door, it was Mor.  “Oh.”

The woman eyed the clothes Nesta was laying out. “I know you weren’t expecting me, but I just wanted to talk to you for a few minutes.”

“I suppose that’s fine.”

Nesta wasn’t quite sure what to expect from Mor as the woman sat in the armchair facing away from the desk, folding her legs up under her. They’d had conversations before, but never alone like this, and never more than a brief exchange. Even in the time immediately after Hybern, Mor had been distant, stretched thin, and as much as she’d attempted to make sure they were coping well enough, she hadn’t forced them to talk about it. Nesta knew she’d lured a few conversations out of Elain but with her… Nesta hadn’t opened up to anyone in that time. 

“We all know Cassian thinks he’s the greatest thing to ever happen to Prythian,” Mor said with a wave of her delicate wrist.

“Well there’s the understatement of the year,” Nesta huffed.

Mor just laughed, a bright sound that Elain would probably enjoy.  “He won’t stop talking about you and your sister and bragging about everything you’ve done. You should see him when he’s doing it, it’s  _ ridiculous _ .”

“I find everything he says ridiculous.”

Mor nodded through a smile that faded quickly as she stared into the carpet. She cleared her throat and said, slowly. “Nesta, Cassian and I have been friends for a long time.”

Nesta inclined her head slowly, not sure where she was going with this.  Of course she knew they were close, and perhaps there was something between them, or there had been once.

“I know him better than most and of course you’re no stranger to the way he acts.  He walks like the whole world is dreaming of sharing his bed, and for the most part he’s not wrong. There are… many women--and men--who would probably pay for a night with him.”

Nesta hovered, uncertain, a line appearing between her brows.  “Why are you telling me this?”

Mor’s painted mouth was a firm line.  “I’m telling you that he’s been used to fending people off who get too close to him. He’s done it for centuries and as far as I know, he’ll keep doing it. People think that with Cassian, what you see is what you get. And for the most part, they’re not wrong, but… there’s more to him than meets the eye and some people never even realize that. I think you’re starting to figure that out.”

Nesta snapped her mouth shut, and Mor continued.  “What I’m trying to say is that Cassian, and really the rest of us too, we don’t place our happiness or our lives in the trust of others without considerable thought. Just . . . keep that in mind tomorrow.”

Nesta nodded, glancing around the room, not sure what to do with the information the Fae woman had just given her. She’d heard rumors, whisperings more like, of how she’d gotten herself out of the Court of Nightmares.  And Cassian’s role in that story.

Mor rose and was about to leave when Nesta reached out for her suddenly. “Can I ask you something?”

Mor turned and something in her eyes told Nesta that she was well aware of the question about to fall from her mouth. “Yes?”

“Are the rumors true, about what they did to you after you and he. . .?”

Mor’s face hardened and her hands ghosted over her stomach, as if remembering the pain of the wound centuries old. “Nesta, there are people in this world who will measure your value according to who has touched you, as if that’s any of their concern. There are people who will see you as nothing more than a bitch to breed as they see fit.  They’ll beat you down and talk of you as if you weren’t in the room. They’ll try to take away your agency and put words in your mouth.”

Nesta’s heart beat firmly in her chest, an aching pain that throbbed in her at what this woman was telling her, what she was admitting.

Mor’s voice was deadly soft, her smile wiped away entirely, and Nesta wondered at the powers she held, her lack of regard for anyone who beheld her as anything less than an equal.  “Rhys’s court has no place for those values. I’ve been fortunate enough to find myself here but there are those who have not been. What we do. . .” She swallowed visibly, words like ice. “I find it easy to destroy anyone who thinks me a lesser person than them. You can see it in their eyes, sometimes, if you don’t do it fast enough, that surprise at being overtaken by someone they’d never thought deserved to be treated as  _ they _ are.”

Nesta’s pride glowed fierce in her chest, lip raised at the thought of cutting down anyone who stood in her way. Not kill,  _ destroy _ .  Tensions had always been high when she’d been living with Elain and Feyre and their father in that hovel. And after Feyre had been taken, with just her and Elain in that manor, there had been little room for more than the passive thought of hurting those who didn’t question hurting her.

Now? It wasn’t a distant fantasy. It was pure, unabridged and unadulterated reality.

A thought tore its way through her mind, a memory of entitled hands who’d thought they had any such claim over her. Who’d considered her his lesser even as he’d said he’d loved her. Said he wanted to be with her, had told her she would like it as she’d screamed to get away. “Even they don’t deserve some things.”

Mor met Nesta’s eyes for a moment and Nesta could tell that she understood. Mor may not have known who Tomas Mandray was or when it’d happened, but she understood,  _ felt _ , what he’d done. What he’d almost done.

“No, no one deserves that,” Mor agreed softly.

Nesta swallowed past the knot in her throat, nearly trembling with the. . . relief. Mor understood. She didn’t even need to say and Mor  _ knew _ .

She took a shaking breath, gasping at the anger that had torn through her, the frustration of those who never truly heard the problems that she and her sisters had faced.  She choked on a sob that suddenly wracked through her.

And then Mor’s anger melted from her face and she closed the space between them just as the stiff frustration that held Nesta together crumbled and she nearly collapsed.

“I--I just--,” Nesta sobbed through a gulped breath, anchored to the earth with Mor’s arms around her, stroking her back, holding Nesta’s head to her slender shoulder. “How does he get away thinking that I’m the one in the wrong? A-and I have to feel his--his disgusting,  _ loathsome _ hands on me in my sleep? He gets away with a bruise and I--” she was shaking with anger, falling apart, tears soaking into Mor’s shirt.

Mor stroked her hair lightly and Nesta felt something damp on her shoulder: Mor was crying too.  “He doesn’t deserve your thoughts. I know it’s--it’s hard, but he doesn’t deserve your attention or your time. You’re better than he is. Better than anyone who would even think of doing that to you.”

Since when had she allowed herself this? To break in someone else’s arms and let someone else be the backbone for once.

“Nesta,” Mor said softly. “You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met in my entire life.” She drew back, forcing Nesta to look at her.  “You’ve helped keep those important to you safe in whatever ways you can and maybe. . .” A tight smile pulled her lips up. “Maybe your methods aren’t the most conventional ways of going about it but it isn’t anyone who can kick the highest commanding officer of the Night Court in the balls, is it?”

Nesta gave a watery laugh, sniffing and wiping at her eyes with the back of her hands.  “He deserved it.”

Mor smiled. “I don’t doubt it.”

Nesta slid out of Mor’s arms.  It seemed that in the past few months, the pressures that had plagued her for her entire life were easing away bit by bit, even as others took their place.  “I should probably get some sleep, I have an early morning.”

“Yes,” Mor said through a forced smile and dabbed at the corner of her eyes as if nothing had happened.  “You do, and you’d better rest up. Cassian’s even more of an ass in the mornings than he is the rest of the day.”

And while they were on the subject. “Did you two really...? Or was it just?”

Mor snorted, pulling her hair over one shoulder and shifting her weight to one hip. “I was a virgin but he was far from it.”

Nesta wondered then, just exactly what “not a virgin” meant to him. Surely he’d had lovers over the centuries. He seemed like a man who would enjoy that as he passed the time.  Her own inexperience seemed meager in comparison.

Mor’s eyebrows rose and she smirked.  “Would you like to know a secret about Illyrian males and their wings?”

A slow grin spread on Nesta’s face and she wondered if this was truly what having a friend was like. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t tell me now.”

“Well there’s this  _ one _ spot right along here. . .” 

\--

The next morning when Nesta strode into the kitchen in the predawn light, letting the sword Mor had lent her clunk down on the table, Cassian paused mid-bite to look at her.  The slice of buttered bread sat halfway to his mouth as his eyes flicked over the Illyrian fighting leathers she wore. Proper ones this time, not just her training set.

She would’ve glared at him, but the excitement shooting through her veins was enough to put her in a decent mood, to not be concerned with the few hours of sleep she’d gotten after talking to Mor for endless hours, embarrassing stories about Cassian and Azriel (mostly Cassian), answering her questions about the more intimate details of a relationship, battle tactics she found particularly effective. It was mostly what Nesta had imagined staying at a friend’s house would be like, only with much more talk of blood and guts than she’d expected (not that she was complaining).

Cassian’s eyes drifted down the black leather Mor had helped her fit, harder pieces at her shoulders, scaling down her arms and torso, sheathing each long leg in supple armor.  She’d braided her hair that morning in a crown around her head. Mostly for practicality, but if she happened to look good as well? She wasn’t going to complain.

“Are you ready to go or are you going to stare at me for another hour?” Nesta said archly.

Cassian met her gaze. “Actually I was hoping you’d might turn around for me,” he said with a smirk and a twirl of his finger.

Nesta rolled her eyes through a sigh and reached over to slice herself a piece of bread. “You’re impossible.”

Cassian slid the jam and butter dishes over to her.  “Well feel free to stare at  _ my _ ass any time you want.”

Nesta hummed, sucking a drop of strawberry jam off the side of her finger, well aware Cassian’s eyes were glued to the movement. “Contrary to your own opinion, your body disgusts me.”

He shook his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth.  “You’re lying and you know it.”

Nesta observed him while she chewed in the dark kitchen. The light off the terrace was just beginning to peek over the mountains.  “Regardless, you’ll never find out, will you?”

Cassian rose from the table, wings shifting.  “Perhaps not.” He covered the jam pot and put the butter in a large stone box with a wooden door, apparently unprotected from the cold outside.  “I heard you and Mor talking last night.”

Nesta stiffened. “If you find something wrong with that then--”

“No,” he interrupted, fiddling with the ties at his shoulder. “Mor’s a good person. You deserve someone like her at your side.”

“Oh.” Nesta quieted, not sure how to react to the implications of what he thought she deserved. “Well, she told me some very interesting things. I happen to recall something about a hollowed out melon and a bag of rotten tomatoes?”

The color drained from Cassian’s face. “What’d she tell you?”

Nesta laughed at his expression, the sheer terror at her knowing he’d once bombed his commander with such a weapon on a dare from Rhys when they’d been young.

“She told me much more interesting things than that,” she added, laugh calming into a pointed smirk as she drew her eyes over his body.

“Good comments I hope.” He winked at her.

Nesta followed the strong line of his neck up to his eyes, glinting in the soft light. “I can only imagine how formidable an opponent you’d be if your tongue was quick at speaking as it apparently is at other things.”

Cassian’s brows ticked up and she could see the feral pleasure in his smile when he looked over her languidly, as if imagining all the places he might use that tongue of his. “All you have to do is say the word, Sweetheart.”  

Nesta smirked. It didn’t feel antagonistic anymore, to have his eyes on her. Now it was a challenge. One that she gladly accepted.  “You’re a pig, Cassian, has anyone ever told you that?”

She could see the straight line of his teeth when he smiled. “You, frequently.”

Nesta grabbed the long knife she’d dropped on the table, strapping it to her thigh and tugging once to make sure it was secure. “We need to leave. I’m tired of your voice.”

Cassian let out a long, mocking sigh and headed for the terrace, hands in his pockets. “There are plenty other parts of me I’m sure you wouldn’t tire of.”

Nesta glanced at his ass, fitted with the black fighting leathers, a dagger strapped to his strong leg, and followed him outside.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the quick fight in the reaches of the Night Court goes awry, the close proximity of the cabin they end up in proves conducive to anything but hiding from each other.

They made quick time flying across Night Court territory, even against the wind. As they drew closer, Cassian’s quips grew less and less frequent, his expression hardening into a mask of concentration. He explained what she could expect from the battle, that he’d be there by her side in case anything should go wrong and that while they were doing this as a team, she needed to listen to what he might tell her, that her life would most certainly be in danger, but if she proceeded with a clear head and quick reactions, she’d be fine.

Nesta only gazed at the frozen landscape below, wind whistling past her ears and tearing over her reddening cheeks.

“Look there,” he said after nearly half an hour of silence, and nodded over to a break in the trees, grey stone and thatched roofs nestled amid the evergreens. “That’s the most recent village they’ve attacked. Only yesterday night. Az and I think they won’t be far, especially since the town has more… hunting to offer than some.”

The pines blanketed with white snow and silvery ice remained untouched, thick grey smoke drifting over the landscape, pumping out of stone chimneys. This high in the mountains, even with with spring creeping across the land, it felt like the cold dead of winter. At least fuel was plentiful, though Nesta didn’t think that was much of a consolation.

Cassian had told her before that the cold made his wings ache, but if he was any kinds of uncomfortable, he didn’t show it, his face an unreadable mask. He must have shaved that morning because his jaw was smooth, not even a shadow of stubble.

Nesta could feel her power biting through her, the torrent of magic she knew would swallow her whole if she let it. It beat against her in anticipation of the battle ahead, practically begging to be _used_ , released upon the world.

And if she did. . .

Cassian’s arms tightened around her. “They’re close.”

But when she scanned the frozen landscape below, it looked just as ordinary as the rest. “How do you know?”

“ _Breathe_ ,” he said, and her stomach leapt as they began their descent. She studied him for any sign that he was playing her, but his face was firm. Terse.

So she closed her eyes, stilled herself. And took a long, deep breath, filling her lungs with air so cold that bit at her lungs and stung her throat.

Snow. Oozing pine sap from tree limbs snapping under the weight of ice. Smoke. From the village. And there, just below. . . Something filthy and dark that skittered through the trees.

Her nostrils flared and she could feel Cassian’s eyes on her, watching her figure it out for herself. “That’s--”

He dove suddenly and she sucked in a tight breath, gloved fingers digging into his shoulder. Ass. For not warning her.

When they broke through a lapse in the branches, the scent of decay and uncleanliness assaulted her.

Nesta clambered out of his arms once they’d landed in the thick blanket of snow, away from the warmth radiating from him, and he immediately drew the sword strapped down the center of his back.

“There’s one just upwind,” he said grimly and nodded into the trees. The evergreens here were thinly spread, as if this were a newer forest, rocks and boulders strewn over the rough landscape layered with snow, thick despite the cover from the trees.

How Cassian could tell so quickly their location, from scent and sense alone was beyond her.

“And the other?” Nesta asked. She almost felt stupid, drawing the dagger at her thigh when Cassian bore the plain but surely wicked blade as if it were an extension of his body.  Though she wore other knives, strapped to her hip, her calf, a row of small, deadly sharp daggers sheathed on a strap across her chest, they felt unwieldy and she knew, despite her extensive training over the past few weeks, that she had no idea how she’d actually react come time to fight.

“Close, but not nearly so much as the first. Come on.” He motioned her along with a flick of two fingers.  As soon as they’d landed, he’d sunk into the air of command, awareness, that she’d only seen when he’d been at the Illyrian camp.

She followed him along, quiet footsteps crunching in the snow.

Though he’d skipped ahead, wings lifting his weight as he skated along in quick, steady steps, she knew he was fully aware of her, always glancing ever so slightly back even when she knew he could hear her movement.

This though, this was different. In the camp, he’d been a brutal force that no one dared reckoning with, and those that did immediately regretted it. Though he was certainly the leader of this particular exhibition, he didn’t look at her like he would one of his soldiers.

Of course she’d seen him training, sword flashing through the air with agility and strength honed to perfection over the centuries, but that wasn’t the same. Those days ended in a clap on the shoulder, a few easy bruises.

This was _real_. Creatures that smelled like rot, that could tear through her immortal flesh in a careless slash.  And she and Cassian would be facing them.

They approached a rocky outcropping and Cassian dropped low to the ground, pulling his wings in just enough that they wouldn’t be in the way but tense, ready, should they need to take flight.

On the way over, he’d told her that her level of involvement in the fight would depend on a number of variables once they arrived on site. One, if the reports were true, if there were truly only two beasts. Two, the state they were in, how ready they would be to fight back if they could get a bite in edgewise. And three, if anything, _anything_ , were out of the ordinary, didn’t match up, felt like a trap, she was to get herself out first. No questions asked. No looking back. (At least, this was what he’d told her. That didn’t mean it was what she planned on doing if the situation arose.)

“Ready?” he asked, and though her heart was thudding so hard against the inside of her chest she thought she might burst, she nodded. Cassian just gave her a firm squeeze on the shoulder and they cut around the rock that dropped away in a decline.

Nesta jolted slightly, freezing at the sudden sight of the monster they’d been searching for all morning. Because there, squeezed like some ancient beetle amid the rocks of the small valley, was a hulking mass of flesh and fur, entirely unmoving.

Apparently it wasn’t bright, sleeping in such a vulnerable position for an ambush such as their own.  The snow around its body was dark with frozen mud and thick blood.

At the sound of her stopping her advance, Cassian glanced over his shoulder, motioning her onwards. Inside, her magic seemed to do the same, urging her to tread up to the sleeping beast, slaughter it before it had the chance to wake. The only difference was that Cassian wanted her to help for the sake of their protection, for Prythian’s protection. That bit of the Cauldron inside her snaked around her neck, whispered in her ear to kill it for the pleasure.

She didn’t want to listen to it. Didn’t want to follow through, even when Cassian told her it was right. Because no matter why she might kill it, her magic would revel in the victory of a kill. She didn’t want to give it that satisfaction.

Brow furrowing, Cassian looked at her in question. _What are you doing_? Something nudged her consciousness.

She just pursed her lips, refusing to budge. She knew he didn’t have time to argue.

After a few moments, he let out a muttered curse, voice leaving a puff of white in the frigid air, and reset his grip on his blade, turning and approaching without her.

Nesta watched, heart in her throat, as Cassian neared. Her power… the Cauldron… it had never felt like this before. It had been dark before, threatening in the sense that she didn’t know how to use it. But now… now it felt sinister and she shuddered at the thought of being joined with the voice creeping up her spine. And even then, standing here, letting Cassian do this on his own. That didn’t feel right either.

Her eyes flickered between Cassian and the beast, still quiet, unknowing. Its body seemed knobby and vaguely deformed, thick grey fur lining what must have been its spine, jutting out in a harsh curve.

She clenched her dagger so tightly her fingers began to ache.

He was close. So close.

_Help him_ , she wanted to scream at herself.

But her feet remained rooted in place.

She sucked in a shallow breath. The beasts had already killed three innocent Fae. They’d kill more if it woke. If Cassian wasn’t ready, if whatever beast rested in that pile of fur and muscle startled him despite all his years of training, then he’d be done for and she’d be next.

Part of her insisted, murmured that she should be the first.

But she knew, nearly as soon as the prospect crossed her mind, that Cassian was more than capable.

He circled the beast once, as if scoping out its orientation, where its head and tail followed on the bend of its body.  His black leathers stood out even against the muddled snow and she could practically feel the confidence surging out of him there, with his sword raised, ready for the kill.

A blood-curdling howl, something beyond any mortal or immortal sound and straight from the blackest pit of the Cauldron resounded through the forest.

Nesta jolted, heart stopping, and she heard Cassian spitting a low curse, blow going awry when the sleeping creature rumbled, pulling itself up with a heave of two hulking shoulders. She didn’t hear her scream, not for her own safety, but for his, until she inexplicably felt his own panic.

His panic that her scream meant _she’d_ been hurt.

“Nesta!” Cassian shouted, lunging in for a snarling attack just as another pair of the beasts came hurtling over the rise.

Nesta froze, clutching her dagger, unable to tear her eyes away from the wolf-like creatures with too-long legs and thick, heavy bodies, long, gaping snouts with a bloody row of jagged teeth.

“Nesta!” Cassian snarled, a warning that if she didn’t get her ass away if she wasn’t going to fight...

But the Hybern beasts were circling him, blood dripping warm into the snow from the one who’d woken to the thick skin and fur of its hackles sliced open.  One lurched forward, snapping at his legs, and drew back at the quick cut of Cassian’s sword on its snout.

He glanced over to her, sunk into a battle stance, eyes dark, flashing with anger when she hadn’t moved.

She knew it was stupid. That she should be frozen. That she was only distracting him from where he should have full focus.

All that Fae agility and nothing to show for it. Panic-stricken, clutching what might as well have been a butter knife against three bodies and Cassian stuck between them.  They hadn’t noticed her yet, but it was only a matter of time before they moved past their current prey.

Even so, a moment later and Cassian had a iridescent glowing shield thrown up around him.

Nesta closed her eyes, breathing in once, deeply. And when she opened them, it was as if time had slowed.

She was omniscient.

She could see the breath puffing in the air from the wet maws of the beasts, the breeze ruffling their thick fur, and the sound of their hearts pulsing, quick, ready to attack, in the cavity of their chests.

Her gaze zeroed in on the one closest to her, the one that was tensing, preparing to jump. To jump at Cassian, his back turned, already launching himself with his sword forward, at the legs of the far one.

She would not be useless.

She didn’t think, only saw what would inevitably happen and loosened her fingers around the dagger.

Breathe. Throw.

The knife flew from her hand, cutting through the air impossibly fast. In her human form, she knew it would be just a blur, not even half a second passing before the blade landed with a dreadful crunch, embedded in the back of the creature’s head.

She was already reaching for the second blade at her opposite hip as the body crumpled, skull shattered with the force of her throw.

The other two turned, snarling at their fallen companion, and Cassian was on one of them in an instant, two precise cuts to the back of its legs and it was tilting over into the snow, teeth snapping, lip drawn back in a contortion of its jaw.

Nesta mumbled a curse, fumbling with her knife, as the third beast ran straight for her. Her eyes went wide when her throw went wide, barely nicking its fur.

It even took Cassian a few moments to understand what happened. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. No surprises. No Cauldron-Made beasts running for her and only a row of knives no bigger than her hand as defense.

In split second it took Nesta to register that the beast was headed for _her_ , it had already halved the distance.

She stumbled back, tripping in the thick snow, falling on her ass, the panicked surge of her power tearing through her. “Cassian!”

He was too far away. Not enough time, not enough time. And Cassian--

Blind terror shot through her, that this might be the end. That she’d be responsible for both of their deaths. That she might never see Elain--

Elain.

Nesta steeled herself. Elain would not be alone. She _wouldn’t_ leave her. Not so long as she could fight.  Not so long as she had a chance, however small it might be.

Elain was her sister. Her family. One of the last. Gentle, sweet Elain who was struggling just as much as the rest of them and always managed a smile and kindness. Elain who hadn’t let the world break her into a cracked, undeniably damaged shell of bitter anger.

She was Nesta Archeron and by the damn Cauldron that Made her, she would not leave Elain to face the world alone.

So she steeled herself against the beast, only yards away, Cassian at its tail, yelling, _screaming_ , words she didn’t hear.

She lifted her arms and reached within her, down deep, through all the frustration, the hatred at her new body, at what had done this to her, those that had looked down on her family. She gathered the seething power beneath it, sinking her nails into it. Commanding it to obey.

It leapt at her touch, hissing in delight.

Nesta met Cassian’s desperate eyes, wide with sudden terror, as if he knew what she was about to do. And dissolved the walls holding all that magic inside her.

Power, pure and unadulterated flooded out of her. A concussive blast ripping through the air so hot that it sucked the air from Nesta’s lungs and sent her heart thundering against her breast.

There was nothing but the magic passing through her from some other world into this. As if she were a single crack in the rift between planes, the vessel carrying her power from one realm to the next.

And when there was nothing else in her but a whisper of breath, she collapsed to her knees in the melted, muddy snow. The fire filling the space around her vanished, leaving the trees smoldering, the taste of burning fur and flesh somewhere in the back of her throat.

She gasped for breath, heart pattering weakly, as her eyes glazed over and she trembled for purchase, anything, tripping forwards, face first into the ground.  But not before she caught with glazed eyes, the charred body of the not-wolf, steaming in the frozen air sinking back around them.

Her power could have vanished them, could have merely banished them into the next plane. Instead, at its own willing, it had made them suffer.

Relief. At what she could barely register, mind blank.  It was only when she swallowed that she realized her throat was hoarse and aching, as if she’d been screaming.

Warm hands on her shoulders, rolling her over.  Cassian’s face over her, set against the grey sky, pine needles burned from their limbs and ash falling around them. She thought for a moment as she watched his mouth move, her ears ringing, that the ash looked like snow.

She tried to speak, to tease away the worry wrinkling his brow, but her tongue felt thick in her mouth and the strength in his arms wrapping around her, lifting her, was so _solid_ that she rested limply against him.

The last thing she felt was the cool kiss of winter air against her cheek and the ground dropping away before her.

\--

Nesta awoke to warm darkness and the heavy weight of a blanket over her. She let out a low groan, throat raw and dry, her eyelids stiff with crusted sleep.

_Shit_ , what-- She jolted up, a soft, worn quilt falling around her waist.

“Nesta?”

She squinted into the room, headache pounding in her temples, and found it small and dark, a single door at one end. It was a small rectangle of space, really, earthen floor spread with a threadbare woven mat. A fireplace at one wall. Her bed on the other.  A rough table, two chairs.

Just being there, under the cramped ceiling, cold leaking through the walls, had her shuddering at the memory of their cabin in the woods.

But next to the bed, the twisting anxiety eased in her gut ever so slightly at the dark expanse of Illyrian wings, wide hazel eyes looking into hers.

Cassian. He was perched in a chair that looked far too small for him, hunched over the dresser next to the bed, a thin pencil in hand and a half written note spread before him.

And it all came flooding back: their flight, the quick battle.  The flash of those razor sharp teeth, ready to rip her throat out. And her answer to the threat. Power surging out of her, seizing her. She hadn’t controlled it, it had controlled her.

But where were they? This certainly wasn’t the House of Wind.

“Nesta, are you alright?” Cassian asked again and she realized she’d missed his question the first time.

She tried to catalogue herself. The aches and pains she’d initially dismissed as just being stiff after waking up were now obviously worse than she’d thought.  Even when she tried to answer, all that came out was a hoarse noise from the back of her throat, tongue heavy in her mouth.

She felt as if she’d been pelted with rocks, muscles and bones groaning with every movement.

“It’s all right, you don’t have to talk yet. Here,” he passed her an earthenware cup, but when she reached to take it, fingers didn’t seem to be following her instructions, trembling and weak.  “It’s okay,” he said when she clenched her jaw tight in frustration.

He slid a warm palm around the back of her head, helping steady her as he gently pulled the cup from her shaking hand and lifted it, instead, to her lips.  “You’ve been asleep for almost a day. I was hoping you’d be out for longer. As far as you’re concerned, sleep is your best bet to a fast recovery.”

Nesta coughed and sputtered at the cool water, throat tight and mouth refusing to work properly.

It was only when it hit the bottom of her stomach that she realized how utterly ravenous she was.

“We’ll talk. . . later about what you did with your power,” he said, clearing his throat and frowning.

Water slid down her chin and her cheeks felt hot, that he should see her like this: weak and unable to even _drink_ properly. But Cassian just wiped her chin with his thumb and continued on.  “For now, you just need to work on getting your strength back.  I didn’t want to risk flying you back in the cold. You were. . . quite pale and not in the best condition for that sort of travel.”

She winced. Being that helpless, that weak, unable to care for herself. . .

Cassian read the expression on her face and she could almost feel his flash of protest. “Nesta,” he set the water aside and reached to her shoulder. “This is nothing to be ashamed of. It Usually something like this would be a burnout, but… I don’t think that’s quite what happened with you, was it?”

She glanced up at him, shaking her head briefly. No. A burnout would have meant there was an end to her power.

“This is why you train. We’re learning as much as you with this. But these things _happen_ when you’re learning how to control your power. Sometimes it gets away from you.”

Nesta cleared her throat, voice rasping. “I’m not weak.”

Cassian set his lips and drew back, resting his forearms on his knees and lacing his fingers together. “No you’re far from it. And letting someone else take care of you after you. . . quite frankly after you saved both our asses, that doesn’t make you weak either.”

Nesta opened her mouth to protest. That relying on someone else--relying on him--for her safety was nothing she’d ever be interested in. But he spoke again, quickly.

“A good warrior of any sort, magical or otherwise, knows the benefits of working and relying on their companions. But we’re not getting into this right now.”

Nesta studied his face a moment, his brown skin shadowed with the low light of the fire.  She cocked her head, confused. That power she’d released. She hadn’t considered in that quick moment to shield him. “How did. . .”

Cassian looked down at himself, then back up, not understanding what she was trying to ask.

Nesta cleared her throat, gesturing to him. “You were right behind it. The fire. . . “ She swallowed past the dry ache of her throat, even after the water.

Realization dawned in his eyes, at what she was asking. And there was something else too, beyond that, gone from his face in a split second. “They washed right over me. I didn’t feel a thing. My shields helped.”

Nothing? Not that she was complaining. Or thought that he should have been harmed, but. . . shouldn’t he? She hadn’t thought about it, had never considered it a possibility in that single moment it took to lower her walls entirely and let her power, roaring, into the world. She wasn’t sure, but was almost certain that his shields weren’t a factor in this.

“You’re okay?”

A smile played at his lips, the first one she’d seen since she’d woken. “As far as I can tell, I’m all in one piece.”

Nesta bit her lip and nodded. Did she want to ask about it? She could tell Cassian wasn’t letting on everything he was thinking. Perhaps she should ask Mor about it when they returned. The woman probably knew the details.

Her stomach suddenly let out a rolling growl and Cassian’s brows rose.  “I suppose I should get you some food?”

Nesta almost glared down at her traitorous stomach. But she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t hungry. And thirsty. And she suddenly realized the cramping in her stomach was half hunger, half because she was more than ready to relieve herself.

She glanced around the room, hoping she’d missed another door that might lead to a bathing room, something, anything. She was not about to go outside in the cold, much less have Cassian of all people _witness_ her doing that. Under the wash stand in the corner, though, there was a chamber pot.

Well.

At least it was something.

She had to whisper so the words wouldn’t scratch her throat. “Food would be nice.”

“Right,” he said, standing and reaching for his jacket thrown over the back of his chair. He still wore his fighting leathers from the day before, the white undershirt open at the collar, black swirls just brushing the edges of his collarbone.  “The worst I can find, just for you, sweetheart,” he said with a wink, striding out the door.

As soon as he was gone, Nesta threw off the covers with a grimace. Someone had changed her out of her fighting leathers--hopefully not Cassian, and if he did, she didn’t want to think about that--and into a homespun nightgown that reached mid calf.  The sleeves were rolled up to her wrists and there was a small woven bow at the neckline, presumably for an attempt at decoration.

Sitting up was one thing, but standing turned out to be an ordeal more painful than she’d imagined. She’d been sore from training before, of course, but never anything like this. Every muscle in her legs, her back, her arms, her stomach, all ached unbearably, straining and protesting as she hauled herself up, a white knuckled grip on the bed post.

A muttered curse and grappled onto every piece of furniture available as she stiffly made her way over to the wash table. Her face felt fresh enough, as if someone had wiped it clean, but the rest of her felt almost sticky. She didn’t want to know how she smelled.

Nesta half expected her steps to get easier across the cold floor that numbed her feet, but each step was as equally as bad as the last, newly gained muscles screaming.

Finally, _mercifully_ , she made it over to the wash stand and managed to pull it out from under the table. Squatting was next to impossible but she managed it, her grip on the stone wall so tense that the stone crumbled away under her grip.

She wanted to wash, but the water in the bowl was ice cold and she was already shivering from being out of bed. Cursing and trembling with exhaustion already, she jerked her way over to the fire, a cold sweat breaking out on her back with the effort.

Sudden nausea washed over her as she braced herself on the mantle, the dancing flames in the grate warming her cheeks, her bare legs but seeming to stop there, not moving past her skin. Nesta sucked in a shallow breath, wanting to sink to the ground but remaining standing at the pain she knew that would cause.

Why had she even used magic in the first place? Her powers. . . if they did this to her every time she used them, what was the point?

The walls seemed too close and too far away all at once and the fire seemed to taunt her, so close and doing nothing to warm the chill seizing her bones.

When Cassian returned a few minutes later, the cold that swirled in on frozen eddies jolted against her skin.  “So I could only find--Nesta?”

She’d managed to sit--somehow, she could barely even remember--her knees tucked up under the skirt of her nightgown, shivering on the mat in front of the fire.

Nesta heard the clatter of dishes shifting against each other and then he was at her side, draping the quilt from the bed over her.

“You’re cold? Sweetheart, you should’ve stayed in bed. This is--” He started unfastening his jacket, and she thought he might wrap that around her too, but instead he sat down next to her. “You’re still recovering, I should have warned you. But you do have to be careful. Here--” And then he reached out, pulling her into his lap as effortlessly as lifting a sack of flour.

Nesta yelped in surprise, clutching the quilt, about to protest, when he readjusted the blanket so it rested over both of them. He tugged her in a little closer, side pressing against his chest, legs folded up and resting against the circle of his arms.

“I should’ve said something. You’ll be okay once you warm up. You’re probably just worn out. And some food and a hot drink wouldn’t hurt.”

Nesta didn’t quite know what to do with herself, or even if she had the energy to do anything in the first place. In another circumstance, perhaps a month ago, she might have slapped him for even thinking of touching her like this. For the familiarity of the gesture.

Another part of her in the back of her mind insisted that his usually antagonistic nickname had fallen out naturally. . . as if he were worried. As if sweetheart wasn’t an attempt at riling her up but instead something of affection.

“I shouldn’t have left for so long,” he rambled, brows drawn down in a frown as he took her bare feet in his hands, rubbing them swiftly one at a time until they didn’t feel quite so much like blocks of ice.

Then up to her calves, too focused on warming her to seem to realize just how close they were, enclosed from the rest of the world in the quilt he’d thrown over them. Even his wings wrapped around the warmth of their bodies, only letting in the heat from the fire.

She wouldn’t deny that it was helping. The frigid set to her body was too much to protest his calloused palms raising something more than just the heat of friction on her skin. Something that glowed like a pulsing ember in the pit of her stomach.

Nesta had never allowed herself anything like this. She hugged her family, of course, and had slept huddled against her sisters’ bodies for warmth. But never anything so . . . trusting.

Gradually, when he moved up to her thighs--over her nightgown this time--she let herself sink more heavily into the heat of his body, warmed from the inside out. His shirt was soft beneath her fingertips and it was all too easy to feel the strength in the swells of muscle in his shoulders and chest.

Her nose brushed his collarbone and she took a hesitant breath in, eyes slipping shut as she tucked her arms between them, warming her fingers against his stomach.  His scent seemed to surround her: leather and cloves, woodsmoke clinging to his shirt. She matched her breathing to his, world collapsing to the expanse and contract of his chest, the steady thump of his heart.

She could allow herself this, couldn’t she?  To sit and enjoy the physical presence of someone else without it being a sign of weakness.  Cassian’s broad palms slowed on her back, tracing up and down her spine not to warm but to. . . what?

Nesta didn’t dare stir lest he stop touching her. She wasn’t sure what it meant, that she didn’t mind his hands on her. A sudden thought eased itself through her mind, one she indulged for a brief moment before casting it aside: The image of the two of them curled in that creaky bed across the room, covered with a pile of blankets and his scarred wing. Talking perhaps, shielded from the biting cold that crept in through cracks in the stone with their bare legs twined together and his hand stroking her back, fingers trailing over her spine.  Not a touch to arouse or provoke, but to comfort, because he wanted to and because she would let him.

Because the brush of his fingers, pulling her tangled hair over one shoulder, was hesitant, as if he didn’t want to frighten her away.

And that he would consider that. That he wouldn’t want her to lean away from his touch. That he would be conscientious of touching her beyond necessity’s sake for warmth. . .

She’d never put much thought into dreaming about a future she never thought would come. She’d never been like Elain, putting so much time and thought into romantic ideas of a loving spouse, whether they existed or not.

Nesta had never thought like she’d miss out on anything because she’d never dreamt about it in the first place.  But now what was she supposed to do? With irksome, smirking Cassian so careful with her?  When she could feel his heart quicken through his shirt after she’d resettled herself against him, the catch in his breath ruffling her hair.

Something deep in her gut snapped.

Perhaps it was because she was so weary, aching. Or perhaps it was because the world felt compressed to a point here, isolated from their friends and family. Closed in this tiny cabin and wrapped in the warmth of him. And just. . . worn thin on so many levels. Drained physically and most of all just so, so tired of hoisting up wall after wall after wall to shut people out. To draw attention away from Elain and feel that constant, suffocating pressure to hold herself together.

Nesta took a shuddering breath, burying her face in the bend of Cassian’s shoulder. It was too late to pretend, hiding her only option and even then, did she care if he saw her? On some level, of course, yes.

As soon as he felt her trembling again, for entirely different reasons, could feel her start to cave in on herself, he drew back. “Nesta? What’s wrong? Shit. I’ll stop. I can leave you alone if you want.”

But when he moved to help her off his lap, she let out a choked breath, fingers holding tight fistfuls of his shirt. She tried to speak, put words to the thoughts rolling through her head, but all that came out was a sob.

“Nesta, what’s wrong?” he murmured, wings shifting around them, anxious. He tried to get her to look up at him but she trembled and curled tighter. That he was being so. . . concerned. That only made it worse, really.  His words fell softly from his mouth, near her ear as he pulled her closer, one arm around her waist.  “Sweetheart, please talk to me.”

That name. That damned pet name on top of everything else.

“I-I’m just tired.”

He rubbed her back in soothing circles and everything was overwhelming. That Cassian of all people was there now. That she could let herself break in front of him.

“A-and I want things to be the way they should be. Elain shouldn’t have to--” she broke off, trembling. She knew, just knew, that he could hear the self disgust in her voice.

Cassian didn’t say anything, letting her pull herself together enough to speak again. She listened to his wings settle around them, hiding them from the rest of the world.

“I didn’t ask to be like this. Everything is different and Feyre’s gone, and Elain isn’t the one who should be taking care of me. I--” she sniffed, “I should be the one taking care of her. I should have protected her. I shouldn’t be here because I should have done _everything--_ ” Her voice was trembling and thick. “I should have died instead of letting her end up in that cauldron.”

And there it was.

Bitter and angry and clawing its way out of her body: the realization of what had been eating away at her.  The thought that she didn’t deserve any of this. Didn’t deserve Cassian’s attentions or his sympathy or his comfort.  Didn’t deserve a warm bed or the comfort of a home and people who cared about her well being because she’d _allowed_ her sister to end up in that cauldron, and that was unforgivable.

As if he knew everything that had just flashed through her mind, Cassian’s grip around her tightened. “Nesta, look at me.” When she didn’t respond, he repeated it, firmer.

Her headache was back, throbbing in her temples, and she didn’t have the strength to resist when he lifted her chin to meet her eyes.

And to her surprise, there were tears in the corners of his eyes, spilling over when he blinked, dark eyelashes damp. “Nesta, you did everything you could. You fought more than I’ve seen battle seasoned soldiers with more years of training than you’ve been alive. You fight every day for what you deserve. You don’t demand anything less than respect.

“What happened in Hybern wasn’t your fault. Nothing that happened that night was your fault. Not Elain. Not you. Not anything. You gave everything you could and. . . sometimes you just have to accept that it isn’t enough.” Pain flashed through his eyes and she glanced up, over his shoulders, to those poor scarred wings, still healing like the rest of them after that night.  She had been too preoccupied to see him those first few weeks they’d been back, but she knew it had been . . . bad for him.

“If it’s anyone’s fault--” Cassian started, brows drawn, but Nesta shook her head, suddenly just knowing that he was about to bring up that promise he’d made, so long ago. The promise to protect her and her family.

“It’s not your fault either,” she murmured, sniffing but suddenly. . . calm.  Calm knowing that part of him felt the same way and yet she didn’t blame him. Had never really completely blamed him, if she was being honest with herself.

“I still could have--” He shook his head decisively, jaw feathering.

“Cassian.” His name felt different in her mouth. Felt different when they were alone. When they weren’t spitting insults at each other.

He looked down at her, hazel eyes as watery as hers were. She saw the pain there, when his gaze flicked over to her pointed ear and she felt his fingers flex against her back.  They were so close, his breath ghosted over her cheek.  “Is it really so bad?” he murmured, reaching up to draw the pad of his thumb down the shell of her ear. “Being here with us?”

The world around her stilled, head throbbing vaguely in the back of her mind. She swallowed. It would be so easy to reach up, touch his cheek and feel the stubble underneath her fingertips.  “It wasn’t at first.”

His gaze flicked down to her lips. She thought she must look awful, pale with fatigue, nose runny, and eyes red.  “And now?”

Nesta took a breath, following the line of his jaw. The hand near her ear dropped, grazing the side of her neck.  “It could be worse.”

A huff of amusement. “You’re right. And you don’t look awful.”

“What?”

Cassian glanced away, not answering, a flush rising on his cheeks. His wings parted and he tightened his grip on her to rise.  When he stood, she grasped his shoulder for support, bare feet rubbing together.

“How did you know I was thinking that?” Nesta asked, head cocked at his dangerously blank expression.

But he just carried her to the bed, setting her down and making sure she didn’t jostle the tray of food he’d brought in earlier.  “That’s a conversation for a different time, I think,” he only said, grabbing the quilt off the floor where it’d fallen off of them and resting it over her.

Nesta studied him carefully as he pushed the plate of meat and vegetables towards her, handing over a two pronged fork.  He didn’t meet her eyes. “What if I want to have it now?”

Cassian pursed his lips and suddenly looked so very tired.  “I think one heavy conversation per day is enough, don’t you think?” She heard it in his voice. The pleading. That they not talk about this now.

She carefully speared a chunk of boiled potato, stomach growling at the sight of food. “But later?”

“Of course.”

And the worst part of it was, Nesta realized when she looked over her companion, taking in his shoulders, bent over his own plate of food, that she knew exactly what he’d say to her.  It only made sense.

And it didn’t scare her, that she knew the reason why she trusted him. Why her gut seized at the thought of spitting out hateful, horrible things meant to bruise. Why she could feel the heat in his eyes and the worry there too. Why she’d been relieved that his face was the one she’d woken to.

She chewed, watching him avoid her gaze, and wondered when he’d felt it, that link between them. A flicker that gleamed brighter and brighter with each passing day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment :)
> 
> Or come join me in trashcan on [tumblr](http://pterodactlichexameter.tumblr.com)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian and Nesta make the trip back to Velaris. Staying in Cassian's personal home instead of the House of Wind this time, it's getting harder and harder not to confront what's going on between the lines of her relationship with Cassian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the rating change ;)

Much to her chagrin, Nesta spent the next two days being coddled by Cassian and the village woman who’d lent them the unused house. The morning after she’d awoken for the first time since the battle, the woman had taken one glance at the two of them, Cassian still at her bedside, and had said how lucky her soon to be daughter-in-law and son would be to live in a home that had supported such a strong, dedicated couple.

Nesta had leapt to explain but Cassian had only offered some empty platitude to the woman, grinning from ear to ear, and that was that.

After being supplied with a nearly endless supply of cups of tea, bowls of warm--if somewhat watery--broth, and absolutely no more touching than necessary, Nesta was more than ready to be headed back to the House of Wind.

The morning they’d planned on leaving, she bundled herself firmly back in her fighting leathers with the help of the woman, who was talking sweetly of how much of an inspiration the two of them were together. 

Half listening to the woman, Nesta stepped out into the morning cold, spine immediately stiffening at the brisk air. She still could barely cross the floor in the cabin twice without laboring for breath but as long as she could withstand the cold, their flight that day was good enough for her. Besides, she knew Cassian was anxious to get back, especially since the letter he’d sent had gone unanswered.

“Don’t forget we can always stop if you want to,” Cassian said, already standing outside. Though he hadn’t said anything over the past few days, she knew his wings had been bothering him in the harsher cold of the mountain reaches. Now they were spread wide against the frozen landscape, but in the cabin, even where there was room, he’d kept them clenched tight to his body, wincing with any movement.

They hadn’t spoken about that initial conversation, neither of them addressing that thread that floated between them. That Nesta could feel it flare to life whenever he walked into the room. That maybe without the distracting press of her powers, it was all too easy to feel what she’d only guessed at before.

Instead, they’d spent the past few days sitting, talking about anything but that. He’d managed to find a deck of homemade, worn cards they’d played every game they could think of with, sitting on the bed. He’d even made up a bed on the floor in front of the fire and slept there each night. Even if the bed had been big enough for two, she doubted his wings would fit comfortably.

The fact that she’d even considered a bed being big enough for the both of them was more than she cared to think about.

Nesta cleared her throat, glancing away from him, frowning at the threads of frost lacing the windows of the cabin. “I’ll be fine. It’s only a few hours.” 

Cassian ignored the catch in her breath as the women who’d seen to them bustled over, making sure they were okay, that they didn’t need any food--a sweet bun for the road?--but Nesta’s lips barely upturned in a smile and she insisted they must be on their way.

As soon as Cassian hoisted her up a few moments later, Nesta realized this was the first time they’d been in such close proximity since their. . . talk a few nights before. Her breath hitched when he adjusted her, her arm going around his shoulders, digging into the leather already stiff with cold.

Quick goodbyes and then they were airborne.

They made quick, quiet time with the help of the winds and it wasn’t long before they were descending not to the House of Wind, but the city below.

Velaris, if she’d understood correctly.

“You’ll be staying with me in my personal house. I’m sure Mor is housing Elain, but she only has one spare room. If you’d like to stay with them, I can arrange something--”

Nesta let out a sigh through her nose. “I rather like the idea of you being saddled with me.”

Below them, colorful roofs and clay chimneys rose, cobbled streets spread with people. The river running through the center of the city gleamed in the sunlight. Fresh. Clear. Ocean sparkling in the distance.

“I’m far from saddled with you, Nesta,” he only said, arcing down to a narrower street, higher in the city than where the main activity seemed to be.

Rows of townhouses and apartments lined the street, windows thrown open in the balmy air, framed with vines and window boxes overflowing brightly with flowers and greenery.  Down a clean, well-lit alley, a group of children kicked a leather ball between them. 

The group of them paused, breathless and red high on their cheeks to wave at Cassian as he set her down.  He lifted a hand and caught the ball as it skittered over the stones towards him, nudging it a few times before kicking it in a straight shot back over to their group.

Nesta watched, brows raised, when he ran a hand back through his hair, turning back to her.  “Do you kiss the babies too?”

He let out a huff of breath. “Here and there.” And to her surprise, Cassian strode straight to a deep red door, the same color as the stones that assisted his power.

“ _ This _ is where you live?” she scoffed. She’d figured they were going to walk the rest of the way, or that they needed to stop somewhere else.

Cassian let himself in the front door with its red shuttered windows and the clean brass knocker on the painted wood. He glanced over his shoulder and said, “I  _ do _ have a somewhat normal life when I’m not at the camp, you know.”

He stepped inside and held the door for her.

And it really did look normal, as he moved around, opening windows, letting in light.  The front entryway had plain tile flooring, a side table next to the door spread with a stack of opened letters, an ancient looking blade hanging over it, polished to perfection.

The room Cassian had drifted into was larger than she’d expect for a townhouse but still snug enough that everything had its place. Half a kitchen, a sink and pantry with pots and pans hanging over an iron stove. Even a basket of fruit on the counter.  The other half of the room opened up into a small dining area, a dark wood table centered over a patterned rug, a glass cabinet filled with colored glass bottles of what looked like wine and liquor.

On the other side of the entryway, lit with a wide window that faced out onto the street, was a carpeted living area with a wide stone fireplace on the far wall and warm looking couches, a blanket crumpled at the edge of one, as if he’d taken a nap and hadn’t folded it back.

And it looked lived in. A bookmarked novel resting on the side table next to the couch. Washed glasses next to one side of the sink. A scarf resting on the railing of the stairs leading up to the second level.

She’d never really pictured where he might live. If he’d have his own place or live on an estate somewhere, basking in the generous pay he probably received as the High Commander of the Night Court.  But not this. Certainly more than large enough for more than one person, but not ostentatious in the slightest. Or even wasteful.

“You’re of course welcome to whatever you like here,” he was saying, striding back over to her. “I keep the kitchen fully stocked but if you don’t want any of it, there are plenty of places to eat just a few minutes away.”

She tried to imagine him cooking here. Perhaps humming to himself, stirring a searing pan. Barefoot, with his wings relaxed and the warm sizzle of vegetables filling the kitchen.

“If you’re hungry--”

“I’d like to lie down, actually.” Alone. She just needed to be alone and not be faced with the thought of Cassian being. . . domestic.

“Sure. Every once in awhile Mor will crash in the guest bed so I honestly have no idea how she left it. Probably in a sorry state. I would’ve checked it before if I’d had the time.”  He gestured up the stairs. “After you.”

Nesta eyed the flight, swallowing. She was already feeling slightly ill from the ride over (her headache had returned) and the thought of climbing. . .

She felt the heat of Cassian’s body as he neared her back. “I can help you, if you want. You’re probably still tired--”

“I can do it,” she said. Because there was no way she’d let him help her up one measly flight of stairs just because she was  _ tired _ .  So she grasped the railing, hauling herself up one at a time, hiding her labored breath.

And to his credit, he didn’t poke fun, only followed behind her each step of the way, possibly because he was afraid she’d collapse right there on the stairs and roll to the bottom. Either way, she made her way up slowly, pausing at the top with her nails digging into the wood of the railing.

She swayed, suddenly light headed, and Cassian caught her upper arm in a firm grip, steadying her. “You really need to be careful. This isn’t something to mess with.”

But Nesta shook him off, righting herself. The upstairs hall was painted a dark blue, the one small window at the end paned with colored glass that sent red and purple light cascading in over the carpet.  “As you’ve told me only five hundred times.”

He let out a sigh, gesturing to a door across the hall, cracked open.  “This is the one you can use for the time being.”

Suddenly Nesta wondered just how long she’d be there. Where she and Elain would live should they remain here permanently. Permanently. That was an entirely different matter now. Numbered days had expanded into a perhaps more frightening concept: eternity.

She had to grab the wall for support, palm sliding over the smooth paint as she made her way stiffly over to the door Cassian nudged open. Directly across the hall was another open door into what must have been his room.  She caught a glimpse of off-white walls and a sprawling, unmade bed before he stepped in front of her view, ushering her inside the guest room.

“Well, it’s in better condition than I was expecting,” he said with a sigh.

The room was only average sized, nothing terribly fancy. A medium sized four poster bed with a plain wooden headboard sat just under one curtained window. Its pale silvery-grey covers were unmade and a single wool sock hung off one of the posts--Mor’s doing, no doubt.  The wooden dresser had a drawer cracked, a leather strap spilling out, and there was a dagger resting on the nightstand, sheath on the floor nearby.

“Do I want to know how many weapons are hidden here?” Nesta asked, nudging the sheath with the toe of her boot. She wanted to collapse into the covers--they practically beckoned--but with Cassian still there, watching her sit on the edge of the mattress to unlace her boots, she resisted.

“Never enough,” he only said, striding to the dresser and tugging open a few drawers. “The sheets should be all right for you tonight but I’ll have them sent off tomorrow to be washed.”

Nesta wiggled her toes in her socks when her boots were off, starting on the fastenings of her leather jacket.

“The door at the top of the stairs is the bathing room. There’s a small bathtub, but if you want a shower, you’re welcome to use mine.  The wings, you know,” he said with a vague gesture over his shoulder. “Not suited for baths.” He pulled a few clothes out of one of the drawers. “Mor left some things here not too long ago and as far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to whatever you can find. I’ll have your things brought down from the House of Wind but until then, you can use what’s here.”

Nesta watched him lay out the few clothes he’d found, a few shirts from the looks of it, and a pair of pants.

He faced her, then, running a hand back through his hair.  She hung the leather jacket over one of the bed posts and eyed him pointedly, untucking her shirt from her trousers.

“Right, I’ll leave you, then,” he made his way to the door. “Depending on how long you sleep or just want to stay up here, I’m heading out to meet with the Circle tonight and probably again in the morning. You’re welcome to whatever you want, but don’t leave the house. Velaris is perfectly safe as far as cities go, but I wouldn’t want anything. . .” He cleared his throat, hand on the door knob. “I’m sure Rhys would kill me if you went wandering and collapsed in a gutter somewhere.”

“I’m sure I’d have the decency to collapse somewhere perfectly respectable,” Nesta replied, and he only offered her a small smile, the barest upturn of his mouth, before shutting the door behind him.

\--

Although Nesta had been practically sleeping her days away in the cabin, there was something innately more comforting about the guest bed in Cassian’s home. She practically sunk into it, the sheets soft cotton that settled over her like a cloud.

When she woke from an entirely deep, dreamless sleep, sun streaming through the long, lightweight curtains over the windows, it felt like she’d been out for  _ days _ . She felt  _ refreshed _ . Nestled between the pillows she’d stacked around her, braid splayed behind her.  She could practically feel the weight lifted from her shoulders, as if a good night’s--day’s?--sleep in a good bed had been all she really needed.

The clock on the dresser read a few minutes before eleven, which meant… it’d almost been an entire day since Cassian had left her here.  The house seemed quiet and she was in no rush to get up, sorting through the stack of clothes Cassian had pulled out for her.

Two loose shirts. The single wool sock. A pair of loose, waist high pants.  It wasn’t much, but she was still grateful for something clean she could change into.

When she eventually emerged to find the bath Cassian had mentioned, the hallway was empty, the door to his room cracked open and nothing but the shift of a breeze through the open windows any sound in the house.

Nesta padded down the hall, unweaving her braid and dragging her fingers through the horrid tangles that had developed over the past few days.  She hadn’t bathed-- _ truly _ bathed--since before they’d left the House of Wind.

The small bathing room was only slightly cramped but it suited her well enough. There were a stack of towels in a cabinet next to the sink along with a basket of soaps and oils, and the water running into the porcelain tub was fresh and steaming.

Nesta practically groaned when she finally slipped into the water a few moments later, sinking into her shoulders and letting the water loosen the tightness in her muscles. She could barely remember the last time she’d had a real bath. Even at the Illyrian camp, they’d bathed quickly, with rags and water in bowls, wetting their hair as they could. 

This was. . . heavenly in comparison.

Nesta let herself sit as long as she dared, until her fingers were wrinkled and the water had cooled to barely tepid.

Since when had she allowed herself anything like this? Time to relax. Time to have nothing to do.

She found a comb in one of the drawers next to the sink and worked it through her damp hair until it was smooth again, leaving a wet imprint down the back of her pale blue shirt.

The pants, though, didn’t sit right around her waist, pinching slightly at her ankles.  Damn borrowed clothes.

Steam billowed out into the hallway when she emerged, the house still quiet despite how long she’d taken. He said he’d be out for the day, but how long did that mean?

Nesta eyed the door to his bedroom. If he was letting her stay here and had even offered her his shower, surely it wouldn’t be an invasion of privacy to just. . .have a look around.

Still though, tentatively nudging his door, she peered in and called lightly. When no answer came, she pushed the door the rest of the way open.

The room was larger than hers, wide and open with the unmade bed--wide enough to accommodate wings, she expected--set low to the wooden floors. The heavy wooden dresser on one wall seemed orderly if somewhat sparse: a folded shirt sitting on top and a small gilded box.

A breeze drifted through the room from the floor to ceiling windows opposite his bed, stirring the open curtains. Wide enough to fit a large, winged male body.

Well. It wasn’t what she was expecting.

She debated about leaving. Closing the door to find food, but something made her stay. The opportunity, perhaps, to see what the commander lived like. Why she wanted that peek into his personal life was beyond her, but she couldn’t resist the opportunity, striding to the bed and perching carefully on the edge.

There were a few books on the nightstand along with a notebook folded back to reveal a half written note in a quick, careless hand. She flipped through it, finding a few diagrams, even random scribbles in the corners, shapes and swirls that might have resembled the designs tattooed across his own skin.

The books were military strategy (no surprise there), and he’d even taken notes in them, marked certain pages.

A few hair ties scattered across the surface, a glass half filled with water. The drawer wasn’t any more interesting: candle stubs and an empty tonic bottle.

Confidence growing, Nesta crossed to his dresser, shifting through the small box on the top--just a few cloak pins and a heavy gold signet ring--before opening a few drawers. Socks. Shirts. A few sets of fighting leathers, some more ornate than others. Trousers.

She paused when her fingers drifted over them. Folded neatly and soft to the touch. She shifted in her own, feeling the pinch of the clasp against her hip.

Without thinking, Nesta discarded her own, kicking out of them, and pulled Cassian’s on instead. They had a drawstring, at least, and she picked at the knot to tighten them.

Yes, much better. No pinching. A full range of motion. 

But then there was the matter of the hem. They bunched around her ankles so much that she bent to roll them up a few times, giving a pleased huff when she rose again.

And there was another part of her that was satisfied at wearing his clothes, one that she ignored even as she gave those thoughts free reign on some other, more open part of her mind.

She only peeked in the bathroom and sure enough, there was a wide, open shower in the corner. No curtain or walls or even glass, faucet extending out into open air with the floor sloped slightly inwards towards a drain. Large enough for wings indeed.

That other, wicked part of her mind imagined for a split second what he might look like there, with morning light streaming through the dark, scarred membrane of his wings and water gliding over his tattooed back.

She shut the door quickly behind her and set off to explore the rest of the house.

\--

Cassian didn’t return until later that evening and she heard his voice at the door just before it swung inwards.

Nesta leapt up from the table where she sat with a cup of tea she’d kept filled since that afternoon. She’d dug up a few basic things from his pantry for lunch and dinner after she’d tried to work the stove and had ended up searing eggs to the bottom of one of his pans (It had taken all afternoon to soak and scrape away the burned bits and erase that particular indiscretion from her mind). She’d even flipped idly through the cookbooks wedged in between an earthenware pot of flour and another of sugar, but had elected for anything that  _ didn’t _ require heating.

Now though, the people who followed Cassian through the door weren’t who she was expecting.  Elain and Mor, jackets over their arms.

“Nesta!” Elain’s eyes brightened at the sight of her sitting at the kitchen table and she immediately crossed the room, hugging her tightly as Mor and Cassian made their way over. “I was so worried! All I got was some cryptic message from Cassian that something had happened but you were all right and--” her face hardened. “If you  _ ever _ do that to me again. . .”

Nesta wound an arm through Elain’s. “You think I’d leave you all by yourself with this lot?”

Cassian scoffed but she caught his grin before he turned around, opening a cabinet. “Anyone hungry?”

And it turned out that Cassian  _ was _ an excellent cook (and if he noticed the burned pan, he didn’t comment).  He and Mor bickered as she helped him, chopping up vegetables he handed her as well as the paper wrapped meat they’d brought in with them.  Nesta sat with Elain, pouring her her another cup of tea and catching her up on everything that had happened. Well. Almost everything.

When she reached their time in the village, she drifted off, glancing over to Cassian, casually stirring the pan on the woodfire stove as Mor sat on the counter, chatting away with her heels hitting the cabinets below.

“So what you’re saying is that you were subconsciously aware enough of him that your powers didn’t hurt him?” Elain asked.

Nesta’s brows rose. Even though Cassian was talking, she knew he could hear everything they were saying. “I suppose that’s right.”

Elain took a sip of tea. “Are you subconsciously aware of other things?”

Even Mor’s conversation dipped in surprise, though she quickly recovered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nesta only said, meeting Elain’s curious, all too innocent gaze.

Elain only pressed her lips together, shrugging. “Of course you don’t, sweet sister.”

Nesta gave her a warning glare, but Elain dropped it for the rest of the night.

Later, after they were all full of lamb, rice, and spiced vegetables and Nesta rose to help Elain with the dishes, Cassian plucked at the side of Nesta’s pants as she passed.  “You look good in my clothes,” he said, grinning up at her, then down to the rolled cuffs at her ankles.

“You aren’t going to ask what I was doing snooping through your room?” Nesta replied, taking his empty plate and silverware while Elain picked up Mor’s.

“You scent was all over everything when I went up to put my shoes away. Don’t be so obvious next time you want to explore my underwear drawer.”

Heat rose high on Nesta’s cheeks and she could feel Mor’s eyes on them.  Elain’s though, were hidden, a smile tugging at her lips.

Damn him and his Illyrian instincts.

“My interests lie less in the content of your underwear drawer than the contents of your underwear itself,” Nesta said before drawing away.

Mor burst into laughter and even Elain coughed, suppressing a smile into her tea.

It was too easy to tease him like this. To get a different sort of rise out of him, make his wings shift.

As Elain washed and Nesta dried their dishes, Cassian rose to pack up what they hadn’t eaten.  “Nesta, I’ve already filled Elain in on what’s been happening, but we should do the same. Rhys and Amren have been making significant progress.”

Nesta finished drying the last of the plates, handing it over to Elain to put back in the cabinet.  Ever the commander, business at hand. No wonder he’d been gone all day.

Mor and Elain sat to listen again, though, as Cassian explained that Feyre’s information had been correct. Armies were massing from Hybern as they spoke. The beasts cropping up not just across the Night Court but the rest of Prythian hadn’t been strays, they’d been scouts. Rhys and Amren were cataloguing the scale of what they saw, traveling from court to court. They’d almost finished and when they were done, Feyre would meet them at the border of the spring court and break away from Tamlin. The point of no return.

At the end of it, Mor’s face had hardened and Elain avoided eye contact.

“And after that?” Nesta asked, well aware of the danger ahead of Feyre and her mate.

Cassian’s hazel eyes bored into hers. “We prepare for war.”

\--

Despite the heavy conversation, Mor seemed desperate to embrace their remaining days of freedom and kissed Nesta’s cheek as she and Elain were putting on their jackets. “If you need to escape this hellhole of male angst, I can always make room for you with Elain and I.”

Cassian rolled his eyes at that, scoffing with his hands in his pockets.

“I’ll let you know if I tire of him staring at his own reflection,” Nesta only replied and Mor gave her a wicked smirk.

When Elain embraced her, she clung tight for a moment, burying her face in Nesta’s hair. “I was really worried about you. Just . . . please be careful, okay?”

Nesta’s gut wrenched and she remembered her final thoughts before she’d unleashed her magic in a desperate attempt at survival. The thoughts that had been of Elain.  “Only for you,” Nesta said quietly and Mor and Cassian had enough decency to talk amongst themselves to give the sisters some privacy.

“And for yourself,” Elain said firmly, pulling back. Nesta’s heart rose into her throat at Elain’s face. So strong, adamant, still with the same sweetness that she’d always had. What they’d been through, what they were still about to go through. . .

Elain was far stronger than she’d ever be.

“And for myself,” Nesta agreed, swallowing past the sudden knot in her throat.

Elain beamed with a smile that Nesta made an effort to return, helping Elain into her jacket. She seemed so comfortable in her body now. So much better than when they’d been stumbling around, tripping on legs too long for them and balance suddenly shifted. She didn’t seem to miss the gowns and the modest jewels they’d only been getting accustomed to.

Nesta would never have expected that she’d be comforted by the sight of her sister with a knife strapped to her thigh.

After they’d made their last farewells and Elain eased the door shut behind them, Nesta turned to see Cassian against the doorway into the living room, observing her.

She shifted under his stare. Why was he looking at her like that? Face oddly blank. She didn’t like it when she couldn’t read him.  Even though part of her knew that whatever sat between them, that thread she could practically reach out and touch, was more than aware of what he was thinking about, even if she wasn’t.  “What?”

Cassian shrugged. “I’m glad you have your sisters.”

She recalled the history she’d pieced together, from Rhys, Mor, Azriel. That he’d grown up fending for himself.

He continued. “I imagine if I’d had an older sibling like you, I’d be a very different person.”

“Do you want to be that person?”

Cassian pushed off the wall and made for the dining room. “I only discuss these things over alcohol. Wine?”

Nesta followed him into the room. “I suppose so,” she said carefully. He hadn’t answered her question and she still couldn’t read him, but she was almost sure he hadn’t been thinking about her sister when he’d been staring.

Cassian opened the glass cabinet against one wall and moved down the row, over labels until he pulled a dark blue bottle off the shelf along with two glasses from the shelves above.  “Besides rooting through my things, what else have you done today?” he asked as he uncorked the bottle, pouring them both generous glasses.

Nesta took the one he offered. “I decided to put myself in your shoes for the day,” she said, taking an experimental sip. Sweet but not overly so. Just the way she liked it.

“And?”

“Well, I spent the morning lounging in the bath.”

“Quite a sight to behold, I’m sure,” he interjected with a wolfish grin.

Nesta gave him a warning glare but he only took a sip of wine and led her into the living room. “And after that,” she continued, ignoring him. “There was the ogling. At least an hour in front of the mirror. Planning how I might seduce beautiful women into my bed.”

Cassian scoffed at that, falling onto one corner of the couch, propping his feet up on the low table in front.

Nesta lowered herself onto the other end, resting her back against the plush arm, legs curled in front of her, facing him.  “And after that, I made another round through your drawers just to make sure I didn’t miss something. A dirty book in your sock drawer. Some list of conquests under your mattress.”

Cassian’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling. “You’re assuming that I’d hide such things.”

Nesta took another sip, curving her fingers around her glass. This felt odd somehow. Unfamiliar. Had they been back in her--no, the  _ human _ world, there was no way they’d be alone with each other without a chaperone. Much less alone in his house. Sleeping one room down from him. With only a few walls and no locks between. . .

But nothing about him made her feel out of place or unsafe. She’d been in a room of people she’d hypothetically trusted and felt less safe than she did now.

Cassian’s eyes met hers and she realized it’d been a few moments since she’d stopped talking. The space of a cushion sat between them and she knew immediately, not from his gaze, but from whatever glowed between them, that there was nothing he wanted more than to break that distance. 

“Would you like to know, Nesta, why you know what I’m feeling right now?” he asked, voice barely more than a murmur.

But she knew. She already knew why and the thought of hearing the words fall from his mouth... She wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear that.  She wasn’t sure what she’d do or what she’d say.

“We can have that conversation now, if you want,” he said when she was quiet.

Nesta took a long draw of wine, heart hammering in her chest.  She shook her head. “I don’t want--” She took a shaking breath. “Not now. I--I mean, I don’t think that--”

Cassian’s brows knit together and he leaned forwards, stilling her gesturing hands.

Nesta paused, daring to meet his eyes, breath suddenly short.

His gaze flicked to her mouth. “It doesn’t have to be now.”  _ Or ever _ , she knew the second part of that promise read. That if she didn’t want that, she had every right to deny him.

So she nodded, steeling herself with another gulp, letting it warm her stomach.  “Then tell me, commander, where  _ do _ you keep your dirty books?”

Was it too much to ask that this not come between whatever had sprung up between them, an unwitting friendship.

She practically sighed when a wry grin spread on Cassian’s face. At the question. At the name.  “I’m ashamed to admit this house is severely lacking in any erotica.”

Good. Back to normal. Back to comfortable. Nesta clicked her tongue. “Well what else am I supposed to do all day if you leave me here to fend for myself? I’m not partial to dry strategical manuals.”

Cassian chuckled.  “Well, you could come with me if you’d like. I have a briefing with several captains coming into the city tomorrow.  I’d love to see them piss themselves at the High Fae female about to rip their heads off if they step out of line.”

Nesta practically purred at the thought. Yes, she’d enjoy that very much. “I always love intimidating those who expect less of me.”

“I’m well aware.” He grinned over the rim of his wine glass.

Nesta took another draw and stretched her socked feet out until they rested in his lap. “You know, the whole reason you poured this wine in the first place was so you could tell me what you were really thinking. Don’t think I’m stupid enough to forget.”

Cassian swirled the remaining wine in his glass before draining it. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Nesta. This isn’t something I talk about lightly.”

She met his eye as she gulped the rest of hers and held out her glass for another. “Then I believe we both need another drink.”

She could already feel it pounding through her, heating her cheeks, her ears, her throat. . . other places.

So Cassian refilled both of their glasses and began.

He told her everything. What it meant to be born a bastard. To have no one and fight for every scrap, every shred of respect.  To have people hate him just because of who he was born to. His face was hard, grim, as he got the story out, of the kindness of Rhys’s mother and the eventual band he and Rhys and Azriel formed. The most powerful warriors in history.  Rulers of the Night Court.

For all the pain Nesta and her family had gone through, she’d always known, deep down perhaps, in that cabin, that she would have her sisters.  That even though Feyre had probably thought her stubborn and ungrateful that she was still the one going out, hunting, providing for them.  Theirs were different struggles to face. No less difficult.

By the time they’d drained their glasses the second time, his hand resting on her shin over the pants she’d stolen from him, Cassian had caught her up on everything she hadn’t known so far.

“You do have brothers, though,” Nesta pointed out, nudging him lightly in the stomach with her toe. “Azriel and Rhys.”

Cassian huffed through a nod. “Of course. Brothers in everything but blood.”

“And what about Mor?”

Cassian paused and Nesta almost regretted asking it, but she couldn’t help herself. Was it so bad that she wanted to know his opinions on one of the most beautiful women Nesta had ever seen in her life?

“Mor is my friend. Family in a different sort of way.”

Nesta pushed her hair behind her ear. “I imagine you shouldn’t call someone who you fucked your family.”

Cassian burst into laughter at that, shaking his head. “No, I don’t suppose you should.” 

\--

“We’ll need to leave at nine tomorrow, if you still want to come to the meeting,” Cassian said as they made their way upstairs. She knew it meant nothing, but this whole night. . . their friends coming over, the wine afterwards, talking, her feet in his lap, and now, heading upstairs together. . . It all felt strangely domestic, even if they  _ were _ headed for separate beds.

And it made sense to her, then, that a male who’d never really had a home to himself would crave somewhere like this. Simple. Comfortable. A place to live and have friends over. A good street with his family close by. Books on the shelves and a patio out back. Everything that  comprised a traditionally sturdy, reliable home. 

“I’m rather looking forward to being the brute behind your brains,” Nesta said with a grin, slowing as they approached their doors. But she paused as Cassian faced her, hands in his pockets.  He chuckled at her comment and the sound made something turn in her stomach, that they could work as a team like this. Could come together at the end of the night even when they prodded each other during the day.

And that he could make her forget about anything but the two of them.

Perhaps it was the darkness of the hall, or the wine resting heavy in her belly that made her tongue looser than usual, but she wet her lips and said softly, “Cassian, thank you.”

His eyes flicked into hers, curiosity written on his face. Had she ever really thanked him? His wings jutted over his shoulders, inky black even in the dim light of the hall. “For what?” 

Nesta gestured around them. “For this. For. . . trusting me in your own home.”  _ For keeping Elain safe. For keeping me safe even when I hated you. And you hated me. _

“Of course I trust you,” he said, matter-of-fact.

But it wasn’t quite so black and white, and she knew it. She knew now--perhaps not before--that even when he’d sized her up as a suitable opponent and had argued with, irked, and jabbed her until they’d both worn each other to their limits, he’d never do anything to harm her, physically or otherwise. That line existed. And the fact that he’d sworn to protect her and her family even when he’d detested what she’d stood for. . . What he’d done as her enemy spoke volumes more to his character than anything he could do as her friend. 

“And you trained me,” she added. “You’re  _ still _ training me.” 

A wry grin spread on his face and he rubbed the back of his neck, almost sheepish. “Can’t say it’s been easy.” 

Nesta scoffed. “I’m trying to thank you and you’re not helping matters.” But his tease had her biting her lip through a smile anyway, because this felt  _ right _ and she almost didn’t want to admit it.  That somewhere along the road, his jibes had softened into affectionate nudges that she returned with equal vigor.

Cassian only grinned, teeth gleaming in the shadows. “Don’t you know me well enough yet, Sweetheart, to know I never make anything easy for you?”

Before she could stop herself, the question that had been in the back of her mind for the past few days came tumbling out: “You mean that, don’t you? That name.”

Cassian’s eyes met hers in the darkness.

He paused, glancing away, as if preparing his response with the utmost delicacy. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until it fell out when he began. “I used to call you that because I wanted to rip you apart in frustration at how utterly stubborn and hard-headed you were. I wanted to get a rise out of you and that name did it.”

Her breath was suddenly hard to catch. “And now?” She took the smallest step towards him. It was easy to talk about this now with them hidden in this dark, quiet corner of the world. Shadows deepened the hard planes of his face, the straight ridge of his nose and those deep hazel eyes. “You called me that in the cabin. On the floor in front of the fire.”

His throat bobbed. “Does it frighten you, Nesta,” he said roughly. “That I meant it?”

“Should it?” she dared. Why did it  _ hurt _ , how much she wanted him?

Cassian lifted his hand, thumb grazing her cheek, and her heart stuttered. “Perhaps. But you were never one to be afraid of anything, were you?”

Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. “It’s true,” she said, voice quiet, eyes flicking between his dark eyes and his parted lips. “There are a select few things that scare me. You’re far from one of them.”

His hand dropped but he inched closer, gaze predatory. “And now? Does this frighten you?” She could feel his breath ghosting over her cheek.

Nesta shook her head, his gaze never leaving hers as he lifted a hand to her arm, knuckles brushing her skin. The barest touch that already had her blazing with heat. “And this?” 

She swallowed hard and didn’t dare to move as he inched closer, their bodies a hair’s breadth from being pressed flush together. She could feel the heat radiating off his skin as his arm slipped around her, the barest weight against her lower back. His palm was warm, heavy, large.

A light tug forwards and the newfound softness of her body she’d forgotten she’d ever had pressed into his hard form. Her breath hitched.

“And this, Nesta?” he growled. Heat flared in her at her name on his lips, and she imagined him saying it in a different kind of darkness. A warm kind of darkness that was the arc of his wings around them and his breath hot against her throat. . .

Nesta reached up on her toes, heart hammering as quick as a rabbit’s in her chest. And she knew she might as well be a rabbit. Prey. To this centuries old warrior. Leader. Commander. But she rested her palms on his firm stomach, muscles shifting underneath her fingers.  “Perhaps, Cassian,” she murmured, lips brushing the corner of his mouth, “you should stop asking me if I’m afraid of you.”

His thumb drifted over her throat as he slid his hand into her hair, threading through the strands at the nape of her neck. They were so close she could feel that wire between them stretched taut, pulling,  _ pulling _ . . .

“And what do you suppose I ask you instead?” He spoke so quietly, voice low, that she felt the space between them contract with their shared breath.

Nesta heard the catch in his throat. “I don’t suppose you should say anything at all.”  And then she rose ever so slightly higher, fingers digging into his shirt, and pressed her lips against his.

The moment seemed to hang, weightless, in the air, the entire world stopped with the touch, no more than a gentle caress.

Her heart pounded once. 

Twice. 

Three times.

And then a low noise fell out of the back of his throat and the arm around her back tightened, drawing her closer into him as his mouth surged against hers. It felt like a dam breaking through her, at the relief, the hunger that burst in her, storming through her senses at the feel of kissing him.

His mouth moved against hers reverently, like there was nothing else he’d rather be doing.  And when his lips parted, his hand at the nape of her neck tipping her head to the side just so. . .

Nesta had kissed a few men-- _ boys _ \--in her time, those experiences had been far from entertaining. Kisses were nice, she’d supposed, but the appeal to kiss  _ them _ hadn’t been there. And the even fewer times that one of them had tried to force their tongues into her mouth, she’d been disgusted.

When Cassian’s tongue brushed her lips, though, she trembled against him, mouth parting. Oh.  _ Oh _ .

He started slow, drawing her lower lip between his teeth, fingers splayed wide against her back, and when his tongue caressed hers, she thought she would melt into the floor.  He tasted like the sweet wine they’d just shared and his scent seemed to surround her: leather and soap and cloves.

He only broke away, growling, to kiss down her jaw, stubble scraping against her cheek. She let out a breathless groan, tugging him back, back, for purchase, until she hit the wall to the side of her door.

A curse tumbled from his mouth and he nipped at the skin just under her jaw.  The bite and the warm press of his tongue that followed had heat flooding right through her, a knot low in her stomach. She was  _ kissing _ him. Kissing a male she’d detested. Whose face had once sent disgust and anger flaring in her. Now his voice, his touch, elicited a much different sort of fire in her.

The hand at the back of her neck dipped down her arm to her waist, and Nesta pulled his hips squarely into hers, not knowing what she was doing or what exactly she needed, just that she wanted him there, that it felt so achingly right to feel his broad hand sliding down her hip to grasp her thigh.

Nesta pushed him away slightly, only to turn them so it was  _ his _ back hitting the wall, wings splayed out behind him. A flash of protest crossed his face, but at her smirk, the way she pressed herself into him, taking his face between her hands and drawing his mouth back down to hers, a low groan rumbled up from deep in his throat. 

That he would have his wings--his precious, scarred wings--pinned for her. . .

Nesta ran her fingers through his hair, fisting it at the back of his neck and pulling his mouth firmly against hers, teeth clacking.  She wanted everything he had to give her and more. Nothing was enough, even as his scent, his warmth, the dark arc of his wings surrounded her.  With her away from the wall, his hands roamed her shoulders, her back, smoothing down to grab her backside, tugging her into his hips.

Her breath caught at the arousal she found there, hard and pressing into her lower stomach.  And that alone, the physical evidence of what she did to him, had her throbbing with want-- _ need _ .

“Cassian--” she murmured through a break in their kiss.  She was practically panting, fingers tight on his shoulders, feeling the muscles drawn tight beneath his shirt. She just needed--

“What is it?” he whispered, lips dragging along her cheek to her ear.  “Nesta, please,” his breath was ragged. “Tell me what you want.”

She knew the answer to that. Her response thundered through her blood, setting her body alight. But. . .

A whimper fell from her lips when she pulled away, every inch of her screaming not to leave, to stay and know what it would be like to have his hands roaming over her bare skin, the feel of his stubble scraping over the more sensitive areas of her body. . .

When she met his eyes, dark and hungry, she bit her lip to stop from groaning aloud and crashing back into him. His hair was mussed from her hands and she wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through it again, to anchor herself in those dark locks as his head sunk down her body, over her breasts. . . her stomach. . .

But he didn’t push off the wall, didn’t close the distance between them, only watched her carefully. “I know what you’re thinking,” he growled, eyes flicking down her body without hesitation, drinking her in. “Fuck, you look so good in my clothes. You’ll have my scent all over you tomorrow, sweetheart. And those damned captains will know that you’re mine and I’m yours.”

Nesta shuddered, legs trembling, the ache between her thighs almost unbearable.  The raw desire in his eyes had her imagination running rampant, half her own thoughts, half his that were flooding through their link. She caught glimpses here and there: the abstract need to have her body against his, to pull at the drawstring of her--his--pants until they were pooling on the floor. And she knew, then, that he’d have her there against the wall if he could, that he’d hoist her legs over his shoulders and have her falling apart under his tongue and fingers in a matter of minutes.

But the thought of that, of letting him touch her in that way, of being entirely vulnerable. . . Everything was so new and she didn’t want to let things get out of hand. Because she knew that as soon as she crossed to him again, her Illyrian commander, she wouldn’t be able to tear herself away.

“Cassian I--” her breath shook but he knew. She didn’t even have to say it and he knew.

He reached for her, not touching her, only reaching, palm raised.  “It’s okay, I understand.” His face was suddenly achingly soft at her worry. “We don’t have to--It’s all up to you.”

Nesta’s heart suddenly felt near to bursting at his sympathy. He knew what had happened to her. And even if he hadn’t known about Tomas Mandray, she knew he’d still understand. That he wouldn’t push her to do anything she didn’t want to do. That he respected her choices and stayed aware of her fears, what she might be sensitive to underneath her hostility. And he knew that she would want to feel in control. That she didn’t want it to happen all at once, half drunk on wine, half drunk on the excitement of being with him.

She nodded, swallowing hard. The hall was suddenly stifling, the scent of her arousal clinging to the air, his still entirely obvious in the front of his trousers.

And of course she only had art to compare to, but. . .  The dangerous wonder of what he’d feel like inside her crossed her mind and she caught his nostrils flare at the new rush between her thighs.

Nesta crossed to her room, opening the door before she changed her mind.  He caught her hand in his before she could close the door.

“But,” he said, voice thick and low. “Nesta, if you ever want that with me. . . All you have to do is ask.” He brought her hand to his lips, ducking to kiss her knuckles.

She followed the movement, breath hitching at the feel of his mouth against her heated flesh. “And what do  _ you _ want?” she said evenly, leaving her hand in his even as it fell.  It didn’t matter what part of him, just that she never wanted to stop touching him.

Cassian’s eyes darkened and his grip tightened on her hand. “I’ll have you any way you want me to.”

“That’s not what I asked.” She held his gaze, thrill and excitement tearing through her as he took her daring expression in. “What do you want. . . regardless of what I might feel.”

Cassian’s tongue reached out to wet his lips and Nesta’s eyes followed the movement, wishing for half a moment that she would change her mind and invite him into her bedroom instead.  

“I’d want my head between your legs.” He held her gaze and she shuddered under it.  He pulled her forward slightly by her hand still gripped in his to duck his head to her ear, breath washing over her neck.  “To see if you taste as . . .  _ delicious _ as you smell.” The low pitch to his voice had her toes curling against the carpet, knowing his words were for her ears alone. “And after you’d come with my fingers in you,” his thumb smoothed over the back of her hand, a suggestion in all its innocence. “I’d have you splayed out in my bed for me, sweetheart, and I’d fuck you hard enough the whole city would hear you screaming my name. You deserve to be properly bed your first time.”

Nesta took a heaving breath, biting her lip as he drew away, as if he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist her for much longer if he stayed. Or if he said any more.

“Cassian,” she managed to get out, his hand on the doorknob to his room across the hall.  “I want it to be you. You should be my first.”

His gaze held hers and she knew he saw in her steady look that she was entirely serious. He flicked his eyes down her body. “All you have to do is ask.” The door shut with a click.

Nesta let her breath woosh out of her. She let out a groan and rubbed her hands down her face. She needed a bath. A very cold bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to comment! Or join me in my trashcan on [tumblr](http://pterodactylichexameter.tumblr.com)!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta enjoys the day with Cassian but they know they can't dance around each other forever. War is ahead, and their time is running out.

It took half a minute after Nesta had awoken for her to remember the previous night. She sat up in the plush bed, thick covers pooling around her waist, eyes wide. She bit at her lip and reached up to where Cassian’s mouth had been only hours before. It was as if he’d left an imprint on her, the feel of his hands and lips on her body still fresh in her mind, his scent clinging to her clothes and skin.

What they’d done-- What he’d said...

Embarrassment flooded through her, that he’d been witness to the sounds that had left her mouth at the draw of his teeth over her skin and his hands running over places of her body she’d never thought she’d want to be touched. And the way he’d said her name...

Nesta cleared her throat and flung the covers off before she’d let herself go down  _ that _ rabbit hole. There was no sense in thinking about that. Not when she had foolish Illyrian captains to intimidate.

She washed her face quickly in the bathroom at the end of the hall and when she returned, from Cassian’s room, she heard the heavy splatter of water against tile and a low, baritone humming. He was showering, then, in that wide room of his.

Nesta ignored the thought of his broad, tan shoulders dripping with water. What his hands might do to her there in the steam...

Nesta cursed and shut herself in her room to find something to wear. Curse him. Curse him and his wingspan. And his smirk, and the sound of--

She groaned aloud.  It felt like she was spiraling off the edge of the cliff and no one but Cassian and his damned wings could save her.

A few minutes later and she’d plaited her hair around her head like a crown. It might as well be a crown. Symbols of power could be just as effective as outward statements of it. In the stack of Mor’s clothes was a distinctly Night Court outfit of nicer make and fashion, all in shades of deep burgundy and gold. 

Luckily the pants didn’t quite pinch as much as the other pair had, hooking around her waist at least somewhat comfortably, with fine silk pants that blossomed out over her hips to hook again with taffeta cuffs at her ankles.

When she stripped out of her sleeping shirt, she paused, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink and there was a glimmer in her eye, a light she hadn’t seen in... too long. Before, she’d been full of dark, bitter anger and strength she’d used to bar herself from feeling much of anything. Feeling anything was dangerous in times like these.  The drive was still there and she could turn anyone around with a single word if she wanted to, or send them to their knees.  It was easy to separate herself from that now, though. It didn’t feel so terrible to let her guard down.

She’d filled out in the weeks since her Making, had grown used to her longer legs and the grace, the strength in her new form. Her breasts were full again with the healthy weight she’d regained thanks to Cassian’s training, and even her arms were no longer sickly thin, but lined with trim muscle.

And there, just under her jaw, she caught the faded red mark of Cassian’s teeth, the flesh he’d sucked and licked until he’d marked her as his.

Suddenly that prospect didn’t seem so unappealing. Of belonging to someone. Of having someone else belong to her.

Nesta let her fingers drift over the bite, well aware of the ache between her thighs at the constant reminders of what it felt like to dig her nails into his shoulders and feel his broad torso pressing hers into the wall...

She’d always viewed the want and need of arousal as something to take care of.  Something to be over and done with instead of something to use, to shape and mould into a feeling that made the build up as pleasurable as the release.

And she  _ did  _ want him. There was no denying that. Not anymore. Damn him and his hands. How was she supposed to focus on anything in the meeting with him standing next to her and the very real possibility of him closing the distance between them once the captains were gone?

And that thread between them...

Nesta caught the distant sound of the shower’s water shutting off and shook herself free of the mental image of her traitorous fantasies. She flushed, dressing quickly.

The bodice ended just above the waistband of her pants, coming to a point over her stomach, with short, capped sleeves dangling with an arc of delicate glass beads and a finely woven golden chains, a perfect match to the ruby taffeta of the structured bodice.

A quick glance in the mirror and she straightened her back, standing proud and tall. She looked... regal. Intimidating. Feminine and hard. Like she could tear anyone she wanted to shreds on a whim and move on without a glance.

The firm set to her chin and the spark in her eyes... She hadn’t felt like this in a long time. There was less need to bark and send people away with her words when her very presence read  _ stay away _ .

She pulled on a pair of slippers and for the first time since back in that cabin, the first time without anyone else urging her to, or out of necessity, reached for the magic she’d felt strengthening in her gut over the past few days. Flames curled in her stomach and she gave them a nudge until a wire of flickering fire curled around her arms, arching with a crackling purr around her wrists and slipping through her fingers.

A goddess, that’s what she was. A goddess of burning heat and striking oblivion who could send anyone to their knees, just as she wanted them.

She offered herself a smirk before descending to breakfast.

\--

If Cassian had done anything more than consider what happened between them, he gave no indication that anything was out of the ordinary. And perhaps it was better like that. He offered her a cup of tea upon her arrival and had even prepared as he knew she liked it: two sugars, no milk.

When she took the first sip, she caught him glancing down her outfit. 

“I hope this is appropriate,” she said, setting her cup down in the saucer on the counter. He’d sliced them some bread from a thick, brown loaf and pushed a jar of preserves over to her.

“Sometimes I forget just how easily you can have everyone at your feet. You look stunning.” 

Nesta flipped a particularly large spoonful of what looked like blackcurrant preserves onto her bread and offered Cassian a sweet, dangerous smirk. “Of course I look good, and don’t ever forget what I can do to you, Commander.” She licked a stray bit of preserves off the side of her finger, well aware of his eyes following the motion.

And all at once, she didn’t want to go to the meeting, didn’t care about the opportunity, only wanted to have him then and there on the counter, and through that string woven as fine as  a single silk thread, she could feel his desire on the other end.

But beyond that, fierce, roaring pride at seeing her standing tall, in clothes from his court. That she was confident and prepared for whatever--whoever--came her way. That pride tore through her, until her throat was tight with joy at the male standing before her. A male who looked at her and saw her strength. One of the most powerful Illyrian warriors in history, the commander of the Night Court armies, with seven siphons glowing across his gleaming black leathers, found her a worthy opponent. His equal. 

It was only when they were walking out the door that she realized she wasn’t hiding her pointed ears. And that she knew what decision she had to make. 

\--

Somewhat surprisingly, Cassian had apparently called the meeting in a private room at a tavern and inn down on one of the main city streets. The walk there, in all their formality, had been interesting to say the least. Nesta wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, perhaps frightened or intimidated citizens cowering away from the massive Illyrian commander in his fighting leathers with a formally dressed, magically trained High Fae at his side, but there was none of that.

Before, in their more casual state of dress, Cassian had drawn in waves and pleasant hello’s. Now people seemed to recognize that the pair of them didn’t have time for pleasantries and let them past easily, with no more than a longer glance than usual. Not out of fear, but respect. And Nesta didn’t miss, either, the way several ladies--and men--looked over Cassian and whispered to each other.

She caught the tail end of one woman’s murmur to her friend about the size of Cassian’s wings and the confident sway to his step.

Nesta only smirked at that and rolled her eyes when Cassian winked at her, knowing he’d heard the comment as well. Self absorbed prick.

The inn Cassian ushered her into was relatively quiet in the mid morning breakfast crowd, a few patrons drinking pots of tea and coffee and eating their breakfasts at single tables.

The serving woman glanced up upon their arrival, offering a polite, friendly wave, as if commanders always held their meetings here--and perhaps they did--and Nesta followed Cassian down the hall until they reached one of the private dining rooms.

Three men were already seated, all broad, muscular Illyrian men with hard faces and solemn expressions. All three rose when they entered the room. 

“Captains,” Cassian said by way of greeting, and Nesta could already see him slipping into character, into his role as commander.

“Commander,” they echoed, each head inclining, eyes flicking to Nesta.

“You’ll remember Nesta Archeron,” Cassian said, gesturing over to her. She eyed each one individually, dismissing their gazes with nonchalance. “My student, companion, and sister to our High Lady. She’ll be sitting in today and has authority parallelled with mine. You will listen to her with the same respect you listen to me.”

One captain’s jaw twitched and Nesta turned to him with her brows raised. “You. If you take issue with following my orders, then perhaps I should show you what I’ve learned in the past few weeks at your filthy camp.”

The man was obviously the oldest of the group and his eyes hardened as he faced Cassian, ignoring her completely.

“I’m only curious, Commander, why you debase yourself by putting your title level with some Made human woman,” the captain said stiffly. The others shifted in their seats, as if agreeing but unwilling to speak out so directly.

Cassian went quiet, wings unfurling in subtle dominance, filling the room. But it was Nesta who spoke. “Do you think, Captain,” she spat. “That your commander doesn’t have your best interest at heart in everything that he does?”

“I think,  _ bitch _ , that it’s all too easy for a woman to connive her way into a man’s bed and suddenly he’s wrapped around her finger.” 

_ Prick _ . Nesta uncrossed her arms and leaned on the table in front of the man, leering down at him. She’d enjoy putting these ignorant males in their place, more angered with the fact that he was doubting Cassian’s judgement instead of what he was saying about her. “I hardly think you have the experience to even begin to question the dynamics of any kind of sexual relationship. Your commander has trained me and he values my opinions. You don’t get to call the shots and you may have the right to question your commander, but you  _ will _ respect his decisions and get your  _ thick _ head out of your ass.”

Behind her, she knew Cassian was smirking. She could practically feel his approval radiating off of him.

“Are we alright then, captains?” Nesta said with a flick of her wrist, rising to cross her arms. She glanced back to Cassian, who took a step forwards.

The Illyrian males nodded grudgingly, sour-faced.

“Well then,” Cassian said, pulling out Nesta’s chair for her. “Shall we begin?”

\--

The moment Nesta stepped into the sun of the now bustling midday street, Cassian wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Now  _ that _ , sweetheart,” he said with a grin, “is how you knock some sense into a band of cocky Illyrians.”

Nesta leaned into his side for a moment, beaming. She’d ripped the Illyrians apart before they’d even had time to blink, beating into them a respectful allegiance to not just her, but a deeper respect for Cassian as well.  They’d discussed specific movements of their respective battalions, gathering themselves for war. Illyrian fighters, Nesta had learned over time in the camp and from what she’d heard murmurs of from Feyre’s companions, were primarily aerial forces and deadly accurate both from their adaptability to nearly any terrain with their flight formations but also because of their cruel, unyielding brutality.

And Nesta had them at her feet.  

She drew away, ignoring the people filtering around them, most probably on a lunch break, or out for a stroll around the city.  “Does it work on you as well, I wonder?”

Cassian barked out a laugh, wings tightening against his body at the crowds. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

Nesta offered him a smirk, before glancing around, unable to keep her eyes off the city now that it was busier. The cobbled street the inn was on sloped downwards and just in the distance, she could see the bright, sparkling river. The Sidra, as Mor had called it.  She’d been too preoccupied before to pay much attention.

Now, though, with elation and pride surging through her, she could see why Cassian wanted to protect this place.

She’d only just gotten to the city and in a few days time... She wasn’t sure what would happen to her and Elain.  Cassian and Azriel and Mor, they were all leaving to join Rhys, Amren, and Feyre. But where did that leave the two of them?  The battlefront would be. . . a less than ideal place to leave this city for. If they left at all.

Cassian must’ve sensed her thoughts, because he took her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm. “I think we deserve a day in the city after that, don’t you?”

She realized, then, that she could do this. Could live here with her friends and her sisters. That eternity wouldn’t be terrifying here.

“I suppose we do,” Nesta only said, tightening her grip on the heavy sleeve of his leathers. “I’d feel ridiculous in this, though.”

Cassian glanced pointedly over her deep red ensemble, the same color as his siphons. Still, he set off down the street, towards the river, and she let him pull her along. “You look far from ridiculous.”

She squeezed his arm, digging her nails in. “I’m not walking around in this all day,” she said with raised brows.

The commander only shrugged with a laugh pulling at his lips, as if to say “do it your way but I’d very much enjoy the sight of you dressed up.”  “It’s about time you bought some new clothes anyway.”

Nesta scoffed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“As much as I’d like you to raid my closet from now on,” Cassian said with a smirk, “I’m sure you’d be more comfortable in your own things.”

That was perhaps wrong, but Nesta wasn’t about to admit it.  Where was she even supposed to find clothes this quickly? All the shops she’d purchased clothing from back home had been by commission only, where she’d have to wait for the seamstress to sew the dress she wanted. Unless they worked with magic here, she doubted--

“Mor’s always raving about this place,” he was already saying, leading her up to a store window with a decadently clad mannequin.  Though the shirt and skirt weren’t directly what seemed to be formal Night Court fashion, she could see elements here and there; the fitted bodice to the waist and the sweep of the skirt were all too familiar.  Perhaps for someone like Mor. For her, though?

“I suppose you’ll be purchasing everything for me as well, then?” Nesta said, almost hesitant when they walked in and saw just how much space the store took up.  Richly woven rugs decorated the polished wooden floors, racks of clothes spread tastefully throughout.  The more floor space, she’d always found, meant the richer the clothes.

Cassian’s response, however, wasn’t one she was expecting. “Rhys overpays us all. It’s the least I can do.”

The woman at the counter strode over after she’d finished dealing with the customer she was with.  Her eyes flicked between the pair of them and Nesta could see the gears turning in her mind, the questions at who Nesta was, or perhaps wondering at rumors that had inevitably wound their way around the city.

But to her credit, she didn’t seem phased, or even surprised, when Cassian introduced her as Mor’s friend, as if Mor were a figure to be recognized (she could understand if Mor was). 

Twenty minutes later the shopkeeper was leading Nesta to a fitting room in the back, a curtained off recess with a mirror taking up the entire wall and all of her selections already hung neatly in a row.

“Just let me know if you’d like any help,” the woman said with a smile, gesturing to a tasseled cord hanging from the ceiling.

Nesta waited until she heard the woman’s footsteps returning to the main room before she started to peel away her layers in favor of the first few garments. She’d even picked up a few undershirts of delicate white cotton, soft lace and ribbons sewn onto the neckline and hem.  Back in the human realm, her wardrobe had consisted of structured dresses and corsets that had given support as well as shape. Here, though, the prospect of going without anything underneath the casual, loose shirts and soft knits made her feel. . . bare.

The new undergarments, some plainer than others, were far more comfortable than any corset, structured enough that she didn’t feel quite so revealed.

She eyed herself in the mirror in the black lace one she’d plucked from the shelves when Cassian’s back had been turned.  She knew she shouldn’t be embarrassed to want to feel… appealing in such a garment that was more lace than opaque fabric, but the prospect of Cassian  _ knowing _ that she’d be wearing it under her clothes. . . That felt strangely intimate, even when part of her  _ wanted _ him to know.

“How’s it coming?”

Nesta jolted at Cassian’s voice, just on the other side of the curtain.  He must’ve heard her breath catch, because he chuckled, a warm dark sound.

“Are you even supposed to be back here?” she scoffed, grabbing the nearest shirt, a soft, loose one with small, round buttons down the front.

She heard the creak of the leather settee just outside all the changing rooms and the warm shift of his wings as she stepped into a pair of pants with slim, fitted legs.  “If I’m going to purchase your wardrobe, don’t you think I should be able to see it on you?

She finished buttoning herself into the pants and turned in the mirror, eyeing the drape to the shirt, the way it dipped into her waist to settle at her hips and the part just at her collarbones.  “You can see me in them when I wear them.”

“But that ruins all my fun,” Cassian pouted, and despite his protests, Nesta didn’t give in, quickly moving through the rest of the selections she’d picked out and the shopkeeper had suggested. And when she emerged, dressed in a loose pale blue cotton dress, belted at the waist and leaving her arms bare, her hair falling around her shoulders in soft waves her braid had left her hair in, Cassian froze. 

The soft folds of the dress caressed her bare legs, delicate embroidery winding up from the belted waist as she pretended not to notice the way he was staring at her, sitting with his forearms braced on his knees.

“I’ve decided,” she said firmly and thrust the armful of clothes at him.

He only just managed to catch the stack before they fell. “Which ones?”

She was already halfway back to the main room when she turned over her bare shoulder. “Everything.”

\--

Since Cassian was offering, Nesta didn’t have any problem with using the money he offered her. She’d never been one to dance around anything or assume he wasn’t offering when he actually was or vice versa.  So they made their way down towards the river, stopping to look in windows and flip through racks.  And surprisingly, most of his suggestions weren’t half bad, besides the occasional times he’d hold up a scandalous garment entirely useless for anything but to flatter the body. She’d only roll her eyes at him on those occasions and return to her business.

And she quickly found that everyone was ready to accommodate Cassian’s every wish. Perhaps because of his status. Perhaps because they were grateful at the role he’d played in preserving their city. (She knew he’d like to believe it was because of his charms, though she doubted that was the real reason). Clerks brought out sizes without even having to ask if they weren’t on the shelves or racks; offered them refreshment even if they didn’t purchase anything. And every store she bought something from offered to have the things taken to Cassian’s apartment so they wouldn’t have to carry anything around--including her old change of borrowed clothes--so they were free to wander.

An afternoon in the city with the High Commander of the Night Court’s armies turned to be more fruitful than she’d ever thought.

“I should take you everywhere,” Nesta said with her brows raised after they’d left a store right on the edge of the river where the clerk had given them an enormous discount and said she’d deliver the dress to his apartment herself.

Cassian only shoved his hands in his pockets with a grin and a shrug. Nesta didn’t want to think about how much he must make if he didn’t bat an eye at their exorbitant spending. And after hundreds of years of accumulation...

They ate lunch in a quaint shop along a terrace overlooking the river, where Cassian’s dark wings brushed the stone railing behind him and Nesta sipped chilled juice over crushed ice instead of her usual tea.

It was easy to forget about the threats looming over their heads out like this. If the heat bothered Cassian, he didn’t say anything, still garbed in his full fighting leathers, ever the commander, sipping tea out of a delicate porcelain cup. She couldn’t bite back her smile at that. And when he nudged her with the toe of his boot under the small wrought iron table, her heart ached at the thought of leaving any of this behind.

\--

Velaris was beyond anything Nesta could’ve ever dreamed. Feyre’s companions here, they’d given up so much to preserve this city and though it almost incited hot anger that burned in her throat that there were people here who’d lived in warm, happy contentment with their cafes and arching footbridges over a clean river while she and her sisters had starved across the wall...

Despite the--the unfairness of it all, it was almost as if some wild, ravenous part of her calmed at the prospect of a sliver of goodness left in the world. A safe haven. Perhaps because Velaris acknowledged in a way that there were monsters and demons out there and didn’t try to cover them up or secret away their existences. Instead of blinding themselves to the threats of the outside world, Velaris had built a space of their own where those evils couldn’t come. Where Rhys, Azriel, Mor, Cassian... Feyre wouldn’t let them.

A place where Elain deserved to be happy.

Instead of returning to Cassian’s home, he led her to a livelier part of town already sprawling with people even in the late afternoon--revelers arguing over sporting matches with drinks in their hands, men and women talking together, laughing, despite the threat hanging over all their heads. 

Cassian nodded towards a door between two such establishments, set into a small stoop, and Nesta was surprised to find that she didn’t even need to push her way through the people milling about. One glance at the pair of them and a path made itself.

Nesta reached to knock, but Cassian reached around her, letting them both in. “Enchanted,” he explained as they ascended the narrow staircase, his wings tucked into the tight space. “So no drunkards wander in.”

But she barely heard him, hyper aware of just how small the stair was, how little room there was between them. All she’d have to do was turn around and--

“Nesta!” came Mor’s chirping voice from the top landing and Nesta’s thoughts jerked back into safe territory. The Fae woman was already dressed as if she might be joining the people downstairs later that evening, garbed in a rich emerald green that made her hair appear as shimmery as spun gold. “And you, of course,” she said, less excitedly, offering a wink and teasing poke at Cassian.

“Oh, come on, Mor,” Cassian said with a mock sigh, wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulders.

Despite herself, Nesta’s gut wrenched and Cassian’s eyes flashed into hers. She tried not to blush that he’d felt her rush of needless jealousy. She was not. . . She was  _ not _ one of those women who threw a fit whenever a man touched someone else. Cassian and Mor had been friends for longer than she’d been  _ alive _ , of course they were going to  _ touch _ .

If Mor saw the exchange between the pair, though, she said nothing, leading them out of the entryway into her sprawling apartment. Nesta followed her into the adjoining room, jumping at Cassian’s hand brushing her hip, closing the distance between them until his chest was practically pressed flush against her back.

“I can touch you too if you want, sweetheart,” he murmured, low enough for her ears alone.

Nesta glanced over to Mor, who was crossing the wide, open living room to the iron stove on the far brick wall, still chattering away.  In the moment while her back was still turned, Nesta stepped back into the firm expanse of Cassian’s torso. “Why not? I know how much you want to.” 

That apparently wasn’t the answer he was expecting, because his hand paused on her hip and she took the chance to slip away, smirking, catching up to Mor.

The line between them burned white hot.

Suddenly a door sounded from somewhere upstairs and Elain came floating down the open stairs on the far end of the room.

The open floor of the apartment was well-lived in and in entire disorder, shoes tossed over the mismatched carpets, a robe thrown over the back of the expensive looking velvet settee. Baubles, scarves, cups with long since dried tea leaves gathered in the bottom, were spread over the glass tables and gauzy curtains fluttered in the breeze coming in through the floor to ceiling windows that spread evening light through the room.

And the potted plants spread here and there... Nesta smiled. It’d been too long since Elain had been able to grow anything for herself.

After they’d greeted each other properly, Elain wound her arm through Nesta’s and pulled her over to the kitchen area where Cassian was filling Mor in on the meeting that morning. “You’re surprisingly… content,” Elain said with raised brows.

Nesta eyed her sister with pursed lips. “Am I not allowed to be satisfied?”

Elain shrugged innocently--too innocently.  “I’m just curious why you’ve got that ridiculous grin on your face.”

“I don’t have a  _ ridiculous grin _ ,” Nesta hissed.  And yet she couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at her lips anyway.

“I think we  _ both _ know why,” Elain said pointedly and they both glanced up when Cassian barked a laugh at something Mor had said while the pair stood by the stove, waiting on the kettle to boil.

But Nesta’s thoughts drifted when the warrior met her gaze for a moment over Mor’s shoulder, smile broadening in joy.

And she couldn’t even pretend to hide the beaming smile that spread over her face in return.

There was something reassuring in the way he looked at her, as if he needed the excuse to be happy as much as she did, truly happy. 

Nesta’s mask was different than Cassian’s, though, she knew. Hers was a stark wall of granite and barbed thorns, an adamant barricade against anyone who could reach the soft, delicate center with about as much strength as the casing of an egg yolk. Cassian could distract people with exuberance, the smirks and flirtation and confidence that drew attention away from the vulnerable bits.

Bits she’d seen when she’d been about to be mauled to death by a Hybern beast and his eyes had shown true terror, the implications of which she’d ignored. And the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, curious almost.  The respect, pride, he had for the progress she’d made in her training and the way he knew her, trusted her, to go up against Illyrian captains as his equal.

She’d seen men who’d been proud of women before, but for different reasons that made her skin crawl. Proud of the way their wives looked on their arms, proud for their own selfish reasons. A lesser man would’ve seen the progress Nesta had made and seen his own success in her abilities.

Cassian saw her strength for what she could do  _ herself _ .

And being around him. . . being around him made her  _ happy _ .

Elain nudged her arm. “Is there something you need to tell me?” she teased.

Nesta turned to her sister. Elain knew her too well. She’d probably read everything that had just flashed through Nesta’s mind and--

“Can you feel him? The Autumn Court--Lucien, I mean,” Nesta said quickly.

Elain’s smile dropped just enough that Nesta almost regretted bringing it up. But her sister glanced over to Cassian and Mor, still absorbed in their conversation, and led Nesta across the living room to the wide window that overlooked the square below.

The expression on Elain’s face broke something inside Nesta.

“I--I don’t even know him,” Elain said quietly, voice low. “But--” She spoke slowly, as if this were the first time she’d spoken about it. And it really was. Between the two of them at least.  “I can feel... him. I know it sounds stupid,” her words came faster now, “but I miss him. I’ve only seen him once and I  _ miss _ him.”

“That’s not stupid,” Nesta murmured, but Elain continued.

“It feels like. . . he took part of me with him and I have part of him here,” her hands fluttered over her chest, pressing just under her collar bone. “But even though I have that little bit, it’s like it never quite... broke away from him? Like there’s a. . . string still attached.”

Nesta tried to ignore the pull in her own chest just to the other side of the room. Elain’s quiet grace and caring seemed that much more formidable at the prospect of having to deal with the emotional and physical desire to be with someone spanning the entire continent of Prythian instead of just across a house. “Can,” she began, swallowing hard, “you feel what he does?”

Elain nodded, biting her lip. 

“What’s--what’s he thinking now?”

A small smile drew the corners of her mouth and she bit her lip, as if trying to hold back her joy. And Nesta regretted never asking her sister about the Fae who’d blurted out at perhaps the least opportune moment that he and Elain were forever joined.  Until now she’d never considered that Elain might  _ want _ to explore that bond. “I think he’s training. I can feel the... excitement. His arm is sore and he has a bruise on his leg.”

“Does he talk to you?” The questions were half out of curiosity for her sister’s sake, because she wanted to understand what Elain was going through. Half because she was slowly, grudgingly confirming what she already knew.

“We can’t really use words,” she said with a light shrug, the movement rustling her loose blouse. “Only emotions. And even then it’s not... we can’t  _ send _ each other things per se. But if I  _ want _ him to feel something I’m feeling, then I think I can sort of... direct it his way.”

Curious, Nesta’s head tilted to the side. “What kinds of things do you direct to him, then?”

And Elain--innocent, sweet  _ Elain _ \--flushed a deep red. “That’s not important.”

Nesta’s jaw dropped, eyes wide at the implications she could barely believe her sister was hinting at. “Elain!”

“What?” she said defensively. “I have  _ needs _ , Nesta.  And don’t think I don’t know what’s going on with you and Cassian,” she added quickly, voice dropping with their friends just across the room.

“That’s not relevant,” Nesta said primly, an edge to her voice.

Elain didn’t look convinced. “It’s relevant when you’re staying at his house. Alone with him.”

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Nesta insisted.

“I think you’re more than just  _ fine _ ,” Elain said, eyes widening as she looked pointedly away, towards the Illyrian in question.

“If we can’t talk about you and Lucien then there’s no way by the Cauldron we’re talking about this with  _ me _ .”

Elain offered a knowing smile. “I know what I see, Nesta.”

“Not the time, Elain,” Nesta only insisted, striding back over to the kitchen counter to join the conversation.

\--

Nesta knew things were different than they probably were with every one of their friends, and that they only had two days left until Cassian and Mor left to join the rest of them on the battlefield (and they still hadn’t addressed whether or not she and Elain would be joining them). But... it was comforting to travel between their houses for dinner. To know that there was a place for her no matter the time of day or who might be there.

And Nesta knew that perhaps all the socialization was partly for her and Elain’s benefit but that didn’t even bother her as long as she got to see her sister and spend time feeling like she belonged somewhere.

Eventually, full of food Mor had half picked up from the restaurant downstairs, half from what Elain had insisted on preparing, Mor rose from the table, instantly clearing their dishes. “Well,  _ I’m _ going dancing and you all should join me.”

Cassian groaned, long and arduous. “You’re trying to kill me. Don’t fatten me up with all this and then insist I actually  _ move _ .”

Mor rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a baby. Nesta and Elain have never been to Rita’s.” Nesta tried to ignore the second half of Mor’s statement:  _ And this might be their last chance for a while _ .

Elain smiled. “I’d like to.”

Nesta glanced between her sister and Mor hanging over the back of Elain’s chair, welcoming smile broad on her face, golden hair pulled over one shoulder.  “And you, Nesta?”

“I’m not entirely oppos--”

“Wonderful!” Mor said, snapping straight up and clasping her hands together. “I’ll pick out something for each of you.”

Elain didn’t seem surprised but Nesta barked out a laugh at the female’s enthusiasm.

“I suppose if everyone else is going. . .” Cassian added, twirling the stem of his water glass on the table, half leaned back in his chair.

“You don’t have a choice anyway,” Mor said with a decisive nod. “Now come on, let’s get you two dressed.”

\--

To his credit, Cassian’s jaw didn’t  _ entirely _ drop to the floor when Nesta strode down the stairs nearly half an hour later. He paused, though, wings draped lazily over the back of the couch in Mor’s living room, legs splayed out in front of him as if he were a lounging panther instead of a male.

Mor had dug up a particularly dramatic dress as black as midnight from the back of her overflowing closet, sleek and dramatic with a wide, high neckline that plunged in the back to a deep vee down her spine. The skirt hung to brush the top of her feet, fitted to just below her hips. Simple. Elegant. Mor had even swiped on a clean line of kohl on her upper eyelids and painted her lips a deep red, a perfect match to the winding coil she’d twisted her hair up into.

“What do you think?” Nesta asked, spinning around once so he could see the back. She could practically feel his gaze dropping down her spine... lower.

When she faced him again, Cassian’s eyes were still finishing their route up her body and damn her, she shuddered when he wet his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue.

He rose in one smooth gesture, wings spread as he thrust his hands in his pockets. The darkness in his eyes had her shifting under the sheer, unadulterated hunger that flared to life there. “You look--”

But Mor and Elain’s chatter came from the landing of the stairs and then they were descending together, Mor in her dress from before and Elain in a pale blue and gold chiffon dress that seemed to float around her.

“Ready?” Mor asked with a smile, grinning at the both of them.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Cassian said with a huff.

Nesta nudged him with her elbow, something in her flaring to life at the sturdy torso against her sheer sleeve. From out the window, she could hear the lively music from the establishment downstairs, the din of voices raised with the alcohol undoubtedly in their systems. “Don’t pretend you won’t have fun.”

Mor and Elain led the way out the door and Nesta’s stomach warmed as Cassian’s hand fell to her lower back, calloused palm pressing against her bare flesh. “I’m hoping to have entirely  _ too _ much fun,” he confessed, leaning down as if they were keeping a secret between them.  She could feel his breath against her ear.

Memories from the previous night came rushing back and she imagined how long it would take for Mor and Elain to notice if they hung back just long enough for her to snake her hands under his shirt, to feel the strength under her fingers...

But before she knew it, they were out on the street, Mor linking arms with Elain as they paraded down the sidewalk, garnering sideways glances from males and females alike.  A flare of approval surged through Nesta when she realized everyone who looked her way took one glance at the massive Illyrian Commander at her side, hand low enough on her back that it  _ suggested _ something, and didn’t dare stare for too long.

On the way, he explained all about Rita’s, about Mor’s enthrallment with dancing there as often as time permitted. That it was their escape in a way.

And when they stepped into the crowded dance hall, the bar at the far end already overtaken, Nesta shifted closer to Cassian, partly because of the lack of space between the bodies here, partly because she  _ could _ .

“Drinks first, then dance?” Mor asked over her shoulder, gesturing to an empty table against the wall.

And true to her word, all she had to do was give a slight wave and drinks appeared. A short glass with amber liquor for Cassian, a glass with a long stem and clear liquid and a lime garnish for Mor, and two identical burgundy drinks for her and Elain.  

“I’m not sure how much or what you’re accustomed to,” Mor explained, reaching for her glass.

But Nesta had  _ never _ been accustomed to drinking much beyond wine, simply because the opportunities for women to drink anything harder than that were few and far between on the other side of the wall. And though what she had was good enough--fruity with a kick in the aftertaste--she found herself reaching for Cassian’s glass.

His brows rose when she dragged it towards her. “This’ll put some hair on your chest if you’re not careful.”

Nesta gave him a long stare before taking a sip and-- _ fuck _ . She coughed at the burn searing down her throat all the way to her stomach, searing even in her nose.

“What’d I tell you?” Cassian said with a shake of his head as her eyes watered and Elain looked on in horror.  “Illyrian whiskey. We don’t fuck around with our alcohol.” 

_ Fuck _ , how-- _ cough _ \--what sort of stone stomach did he have to have to sip at it casually?  

Eventually Mor and Cassian started arguing about some sporting match that happened the other day while Nesta washed Cassian’s drink down with the rest of her glass until she could feel a pleasant buzzing in her head.  Even the room seemed to have ticked up several degrees warmer. Or perhaps it was just the male body that seemed to inch closer with the passing minutes. And the way his hand would graze her side from time to time, as if he couldn’t bear to have empty space between them.

So Nesta settled for observing that night, taking in the dim lighting and the bodies that filled the dance floor, some dressed as formally as they were, others in clothes she’d seen on the streets earlier in the day. Though the music fluctuated from song to song from the four person band on the small platform at the opposite side of the floor, this dancing was different from any of the structured court dances she’d been privy to in the human world.

This was dancing for the sake of movement. Of being with people. Whereas the strict lines and circles, of lightly holding hands with your partners, those were for networking. For men to find wives. For women to find husbands. For polite conversations.

One couple in a darker corner seemed to be thinking of anything but conversation from the way they clung to each other, torsos pressed into each other as they swayed to the music, foreheads together. Their embrace was so intimate, Nesta felt like she was invading their privacy even with just watching them.

A brush against her cheek, warm breath over her jaw. “Dance with me?” Cassian murmured, hand curving over hip. He must’ve seen her watching the couple across the dance floor, following her gaze, and her breath hitched when he nuzzled into her neck, soft hair against her ear.

“I suppose I’ll allow that,” she teased through a smile, hand covering his over her hip, linking her fingers with his as he sidled closer, his shirt pressing against the open back of her dress.

He chuckled, low, and pressed a quick kiss to the bend of her shoulder. Everything felt different now between them, and she knew she shouldn’t have expected them to be the same after what had happened between them the previous night but. . .

It was as if they’d stopped trying to hide or deny that there was something between them. It wasn’t a question of  _ if _ anything would happen, but  _ when _ .

Which was why when Cassian slid his hand into hers, following closely behind as she led them to an open spot on the dance floor, her heart was pounding in her chest with that question hanging in the air. This was worse, in a way, knowing something was going to happen and knowing she still wouldn’t be fully prepared for it even when it did come.

“I never got to finish what I was saying,” Cassian said after she’d turned to face him, chest to chest, her hand braced on his shoulder.  It was easy to forget how large he was. How much space he took up in the breadth of his shoulders, his height, even with his wings clamped tight to his body. Her eyes were even with the hard line of his jaw, his lips.

“When?”  It took a moment, but they found the beat of the music together, his palm on her back pulling her ever so slightly closer.

“In Mor’s apartment.” In the din of the music, voices, the shuffle of feet across the hardwood floors, he leaned down so their cheeks were pressed together and his lips brushed the edge of her jaw. “How beautiful you are in that dress.”

An easy smile spread on her face and she leaned closer to the shell of his ear, rounded like hers had been. “In case you haven’t noticed, and you  _ have _ , I’m beautiful all the time.  Regardless of the dress.”

She could feel his bark of laugh rumble out of his chest.  “I imagine you’d look even more beautiful  _ without _ the dress.”

This game between them, the music, the blood thrumming in her veins, had her forgetting about anything but the two of them. Forgetting even that people could see them. “And just how often do you imagine that? Out of curiosity.”

Cassian hummed, the sound reverberating through him. “You’d slap me if you knew how long I’d been thinking about you.”

Her breath suddenly seemed hard to catch and she pressed closer into the firm expanse of him, further into the circle of his arms.  She never wanted to leave this place, leave him. “Perhaps I might,” she agreed, and she could feel his smile against her cheek. “But you should tell me anyway.”

They’d been dancing for all of two minutes and she already wanted to be alone with him. Wanted to pull him to the shadows, let him shield them with their wings, draw his hands to the places she wanted him most.

His wings shifted even in their cramped position against his back. “Not here,” he said, voice grating over her clothes, stripping her bare.

“The commander’s too shy?” she teased, breathless as he spun her around once before drawing her back into his embrace.

“Shy?” Cassian’s lips brushed her throat and she resisted the shudder that came of its own accord. “No,” his breath huffed with his chuckle. “I just wouldn’t want to distract you from your dancing.”

Nesta couldn’t help the grin that spread on her lips at that. “Cassian?”

He drew back to look at her, wry smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“You’re insufferable,” she said simply, with a shake of her head and their rhythm broke for a moment as he laughed, wings rustling at his back, as if he wanted to unfurl them and then remembered where they were.

A familiar laugh resounded at their side and Nesta looked over to see Elain and Mor parading between couples, Elain grasping Mor’s shoulders and practically shrieking in laughter.

Nesta couldn’t help the grin that burst across her face at the sight of the two fae women careless to what anyone else might think, preoccupied with having their own fun.

But after a moment of observing, she could feel Cassian’s eyes on her and glanced over to him. “Why are you looking at me like that? You look like an idiot.”

His smile widened. “You should do that more often.”

Mor and Elain tore past their slower movement that had turned more into a swaying back and forth despite the lively music, a breeze of Elain’s floral scent and Mor’s blonde hair.

“What, insult you?” she laughed, shaking her head.

But his eyes rose from her lips to her eyes, steady and warm. “Smile like that.”

Nesta’s breath froze in her throat, suddenly tight.  _ Smile like that _ . She was so taken aback, she didn’t know what to do with her body, where to look.  “Cassian...”

“Don’t do that,” he murmured, reaching for her and it was only then she realized she’d stopped moving. “Please, Nesta, don’t--”  There was such pleading in the way he was looking at her, like it broke something in him to have her draw away.

“I don’t--I just--” her voice caught in her chest and the overwhelming urge to cry rose in her, because what he was saying. . . this was  _ different _ .  This wasn’t purely physical. She could deal with that. The banter and the touches. Even the kisses. The prospect of him wanting her just as much as she wanted him.

But this? The way he looked at her. Not at her body. Looked  _ her _ in the eyes even when he practically told the world how very much he was interested in the way she was dressed.

The heat of the room felt stifling all at once and Nesta ducked her head. “I need some air,” she murmured, too quiet for any mortal ears to hear over the music. Cassian’s face fell as she skirted around him, around the arc of his wings before Mor and Elain could see her leave.

“Nesta--” 

But she made a beeline for the arching entrance they’d come through not half an hour ago. Even in just that much time, the number of people arriving had doubled, bodies filling every empty space in the room.

Tears stung the corners of her eyes and she clenched her hands into fists, wanting to scream in frustration. By the time she burst out of the crowd working their way into the venue, she was almost trembling.  She was being a stupid baby, that’s what she was being. Grown women didn’t cry because some prick with massive wings and dumb muscles told them they liked their smile.

But she knew it wasn’t just the words. It was everything that had been rising between them over the past few weeks. His casual comments, the way his touch had turned gentle when she was sitting in the cradle of his arms in front of the fire in that cabin in the woods after her burnout. How easily he’d understood and accepted her hesitations about continuing anything physical. That she looked at him and didn’t see someone she wanted to tear to pieces, and instead knew with a violent certainty that anyone that dared touch him, harm him, would have her teeth at their throats in a manner of seconds.

That desire, to protect even when she knew he could handle himself, to be near him, to just  _ sit _ with him on a terrace by the river and talk to him, to touch him, to have him touch her...

It jarred her bones and sent her blood pounding through her veins. And it frightened her.

That he could feel the same. That she  _ knew _ he felt the same.

She was gasping for breath, tears flowing freely, drawing concerned glances from people making their way down the cobbled street, lit with fae lights and lined with graceful trees.

“Nesta!” came Cassian’s voice behind her and she didn’t have the energy to move from the wall she’d glued herself to, only turned away from him, caving in on herself. His jogging footsteps slowed and every inch of her body heightened as he neared.

That damn bond between them.  Always making her aware. As if she wanted to know how he felt... Know that he was safe...

“Nesta.” Gentle. Lower this time, immediately at her back, and oh, how much worse that was.

She sniffled. “This isn’t one of those damn moments where you’re supposed to follow me,” she growled.  “Stop being--” she broke off in a groan of frustration. “Just  _ stop _ .” 

She could feel the air practically crackle as he stiffened. “And what--pretend like we both don’t know what’s happening?”

Not like this, not like this.

He continued, voice rougher, “Don’t you even dare pretend you don’t know what’s going on.  I’m not--We can’t just ignore it.”

She jolted off the wall.  “I can’t deal with this now,” she said quietly, palm braced on the cool brick in the effort not to shake with fright, not from him, but from the fact that this might all come out and she couldn’t even. . . What was she doing? She didn’t know what the hell to even think much less how to act around him.

“Then when?” he growled, out of frustration perhaps.  “When, Nesta?” he demanded.  “After Mor and I leave in two days?  After this war? Cauldron knows if we’ll even survive the next month. You fucking know that.”

Nesta’s spine was erect with tension and she whirled on him, eyes suddenly hard as ice. “Don’t put this on me,” she spat. “Don’t you dare put  _ this _ on  _ me _ . You’re the one...”

His hazel eyes bored into hers and it was only then that she realized how wide a berth people were giving them, the Illyrian Commander with his wings flared wide and the Made Fae woman ready to tear him to shreds.  “I’m the one  _ what _ ?”

She ground her jaw. “You’re the one who started this. I didn’t ask for your fucking attention.”

He scoffed, stepping towards her. “This isn’t just... attraction, and you know that.”

“Then why don’t you say it, hmm?” she challenged. “If you’ve got such a better grasp on the situation why don’t you go ahead and say it.”

Cassian’s jaw feathered, mouth snapping shut. He was quiet for a moment and she realized they were both breathing heavily.  “What we are? Why I can’t...” he clenched his fists at his side. “Why I know how you’re feeling every Cauldron damned hour of the day?  Why I wake up sweating if you have a single nightmare? Why I can...  _ feel _ when you walk into a room.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he stalked forward, still not touching her, as if he couldn’t say those things and not be close to her.

“I--” his voice was suddenly shaking, “Nesta, I know you didn’t ask for this, but it isn’t... I didn’t ever think...”

He still hadn’t said it, the word. And she hadn’t even dared to think it. And what he was saying... what he seemed to imply but couldn’t get out. 

Between them, that damned thread was throbbing,  _ itching _ , practically begging them to just--

“I don’t know how to--” Nesta started, shaking her head. She reached for him for a moment, then let her hand drop, fingers winding shut.  “I just want time to--”

“But we might not have that time,” Cassian said quietly. “We have all the time in the world and-- after two days from now... We can’t know if that time might--might be cut short.” His voice was slow, deliberate, as if he’d given this entirely too much thought.

Nesta bit at her lip in the effort to keep the tremble from her jaw. “I know,” she murmured, eyes slipping shut against the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her.  “I know that and I--I just need to be alone right now.”

Silence filled the air between them and Nesta’s throat tightened when Cassian nodded, glancing to the ground. His wings eased out of their raised positions behind him as he slowly, deliberately tucked them back against his body, defeated.

“Do you know how to get back?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head, biting her cheek. She didn’t have the energy to wander until she made her way back. She didn’t even know what part of the city they were in much less how to return to his town home.

“Come on, then,” he said with a nod of his head towards one direction of the street. He thrust his hands in his pockets and set off, only waiting long enough to make sure she was following behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to comment or join me in my trashcan on [tumblr!](http://pterodactylichexameter.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE MOMENT WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter in particular is rated E, but the whole fic rating will stay the same.

Nesta sat in the bath for longer than she dared keep track of. She stirred the water with her hand, reheating it after it lost its warmth. She was curled at one end, biting her lip and  _ thinking _ .

She ran over everything in her head, what Cassian had said. The way he’d burst at her in frustration when she’d pulled away again. Part of her was angry with him, that he should be callous and rude like that but... he wasn’t wrong.

Time had once been a precious commodity. So many years of being a child, of  _ not _ being a child and wasting away in a cottage in the woods, of preserving herself for the marriage she’d inevitably have to make for her own--relative and still not guaranteed--safety and comfort.  Time had been something to be aware of but never to think about too closely, the years ticking by.

And then, after she’d been Made... that vast stretch of empty, numbing years. Years whose existence were just as terrifying as a shortage of them. Sharing those years with someone made them worth something. It made them count.

But even as she’d been given that experience, it could just as easily be ripped away with Hybern’s rise. It depended, she supposed, on whether or not she wanted to face the prospect of knowing what a good future could be like and then losing it, or never knowing what she might be missing out on.

Nesta let out a long breath that rippled over the water, already cooled again. It must have been hours late into the night and Cassian still hadn’t returned. He’d disappeared the moment he let her into the house, wordlessly returning back into the city. She’d glanced back, a hesitant choice before she’d closed the door, and seen the already-distant speck of inky black wings against the lights of the city. Maybe he’d sleep on the couch at Mor’s to avoid her. She wouldn’t blame him.

The water was already tepid but she didn’t have the motivation to heat it again, pulling the drain instead and sitting, watching the swirl of water at the other end of the porcelain tub. She was shivering in the cool air of the room against her wet skin, but waited until the water had completely drained before rising. The thick towel she wrapped around herself didn’t even begin to help the chill.

She ran a comb from one of the shelves through her damp hair, staring into the mirror without quite focusing on her reflection.  

_ I know you didn’t ask for this _ .

_ I can feel you walk into a room. . . _

_ Sweetheart. _

Steam billowed out of the bathing room when she opened the door into the dim hallway.  Only last night they’d been pressed up against each other here. Against the wall just there...

Nesta shut herself in her room with her back against the door, brow furrowed.

Cassian... What she felt for him... That her heart ached even then at the remembered defeat on his face when she’d asked to be alone, to ignore what lie between them whether she wanted it to or not.

And then, even through the door and down stairs, she heard the click of the front door opening, could feel his presence filling the foyer. 

She clutched the clothes she’d been ready to change into, freezing in place at the sudden clench in her chest that he’d come home. 

She knew what she had to do.

\--

Nesta’s knock rapped softly on the wooden door.

Movement inside while her hands trembled even in her surety.

And then the door was opening inwards, Cassian appearing, his figure highlighted in the warm faelight from behind him.  He looked weary, wings tight to his body even in the safety of his own home, hair down from its tie, tucked behind his ears in dark waves.

“Nesta. . .” he said quietly, bracing one forearm against the frame, looking ready to fall in bed. In the time it’d taken to slip downstairs, he’d already changed into a pair of loose pants and a shirt unbuttoned past his collar bone.

His voice died in his throat, though, when his gaze dropped to her hands and he saw the small plate that rested in her upturned palms. The slice of bread she’d spread with butter she’d grabbed from the counter and scrambled to make before he went to sleep.

She heard him swallow.

“Don’t say anything,” she said, voice spilling out before she could stop herself. “I--I didn’t mean what I said before. It’s not your fault and it’s not mine. It’s not anyone’s fault and that. . . terrified me.” 

He’d stopped breathing and she could feel the bond between them quivering.

“I was stupid and I didn’t want to admit what I felt or what was going on,” she continued.  “I’m so--” her breath caught in her throat “I’m so used to pushing people away and dealing with the consequences later and then you...  _ You _ pushed back and--” she let out a shaking laugh, “I respected you for that even when I hated you for it. And when you promised to protect my family...” her hands were trembling so hard the plate shook but she didn’t care, “Maybe that was when I started to...”

Cassian hadn’t moved, frozen in place, eyes flickering between her face and the plate she grasped.

“I didn’t want to feel anything because I think I knew early on that... That we were mates.” Her breath fell out in a woosh and saying it, the word, seemed so unreal, that she couldn’t help a laugh that caught in her throat.  “You’re my  _ mate _ , Cassian,” she murmured, sidling forwards. “And I’m yours.  Maybe it’s too late, but I want this. And I want you--” She could feel the tears leaking down her cheeks, leaving wet trails in their wake, voice trembling even as she pushed the words out.

“I know you’re leaving in two days and I don’t even know if I’m coming with you, but I just know that if anyone-- _ anyone _ ,” she snarled, “harms you, I’ll rip them apart before they even realize what’s happening to them.  I don’t want to wait anymore.  We don’t--we don’t know how much time we have and I want it all with you.  I could have centuries to live and I want you in every day of them.”

The arm he’d braced on the door frame slipped down and he shifted towards her, reaching to cup her cheek in his palm. She leaned into his touch and bit back a smile at the almost disbelief on his face, his thumb wiping the tears from her cheek.

“For once you’re quiet,” she said, searching his eyes for something--anything--that would give her an answer.  

His wings shifted over his shoulders, and then he ducked to press his lips to her forehead. “My mate,” he murmured, voice thick.

And perhaps he’d been just as terrified about this as she’d been.  That he hadn’t been able to say it because the possibility of her rejection would be too much to contemplate, to risk damaging what they already had.

“I know the food it just ceremony,” she said, breathless, “but I figured--”

“Are you sure?” Cassian asked, looking between them as his hand slid from her hair. She almost cried out at the loss of contact.

The small, unsure tilt to his voice had her wanting to growl at him, to tell him he was worth it. That he didn’t need to prove himself. That he deserved to be happy and be happy with  _ her _ . To prove to him, to herself, that there was still a shred of humanity, of softness in the world, and that sliver of goodness resided  _ here _ in them. Between them. In the bond that was glowing so brightly she could feel the heat of it thrumming through her.

Nesta stretched up on her toes, his scent surrounding her, leather and cloves and the salt breeze wafting off the sea. “You make me feel sure of everything,” she murmured, kissing his damp cheek.  “Now please, Cassian...” she drifted off, slipping the plate into his hands, “eat the damn bread.”

Cassian laughed at that, and joy resounded in her that such unmarred, shared happiness could rest between them.  He kissed her through their grins, nuzzling into her cheek, the soft curls of his hair falling from behind his ear.  “I’d love you even without the bond,” he murmured against the corner of her mouth.

The way he touched her was out of sheer joy and loving adoration. Her heart ached at what he told her.

“I  _ do _ love you,” he continued, the food still held between them even as he took her hand in his, twining their fingers together.  “I loved you before I even knew about the bond, and it just--it makes sense.”

Nesta squeezed his fingers in hers, breathing him in, heart in her throat.

“I’ve seen my best friends fall in love with--” he let out a quick breath, smiling. “Azriel would crawl back from the grave if Mor asked him to, and Rhys--I saw what Feyre did to him, even when he didn’t want to admit it. It was too easy to guess at their bond and--” The smile eased from his face and Nesta could see the flash of remembered pain in his eyes. “I’ve never been under the impression that I would be given anything in life I didn’t have to fight for.  And I wasn’t jealous of them, we all have different battles to face, different allies to help us face those difficulties, but...”

Nesta reached up to cup his cheek as his head dropped slightly, tucking his hair back behind his ear.

“Mates are so rare and Rhys found Feyre so I thought... that it was chance enough one of us would be mated. And then you--I saw you standing in that purple dress on your family’s estate and you were so--” he couldn’t help smiling at that, it seemed, at the memory of how they’d been at each other’s throats from the start. “You had me by the balls and you knew it.”

“I still do,” Nesta said through a smile and took the bread from the plate. “And if you don’t eat this soon, I’m going to have it myself and you’ll have to make your own damn bread?”

Cassian laughed and Nesta couldn’t help but feel that this was how it should be. That they could fight if and when they wanted, that they could be antagonistic and have their teeth at each other’s throats but  _ this _ ?  Laughing with him. Grinning and not having to worry. Letting herself relish the rumble of his laugh through his chest and forget about anything but the two of them. This was what it should feel like.

He’d taken all of one bite when Nesta’s breath caught in her throat and she realized how close they were standing in the threshold of his bedroom. It was all too easy to think of the next steps. What came after the tradition.

“I love you too, you know,” she said, taking the plate from his hands and sliding around him into his room, setting it on his night stand.

He was still chewing, watching her carefully as she sat down on the edge of his bed, sprawled with a tangle of sheets and blankets. The floor-to-ceiling windows were thrown open to the night, curtains fluttering in a breeze that had chills raising on her arms.

“And I want you to know that I trust you.”

It only took a second to grasp the implications of what she was saying, taking a moment to swallow, still standing near the door.  The bond was thrumming between them, as if about to break free. All it needed was a little nudge and then--

“Just because we’re mated doesn’t mean you have to say yes to that,” he said carefully, voice hardening. “You never have to say yes to anything you don’t want to do. Ever.”

Nesta paused, taking him in, the proud Illyrian male before her, wings beginning to unfurl in the dim light of the room, only a small faelight next to his bed lit.  She rose slowly, stepping towards him. 

“And if I do want you now?”

Her words seemed to hang between them until she reached him, fingers brushing his shirt.  Even the lightest touch had her heart quickening. She wasn’t just saying these things for his benefit. She  _ did _ want him.

“I just want you to be sure. Bond or no,” he said, hand coming to rest on her waist. It felt odd, hearing the word aloud after so long keeping it buried between them.

“Cassian?” She rose on her toes, threading her fingers through his hair and drawing his mouth down to hers in a kiss that was slow, sweet, and had her suddenly aware of his body against hers. “I’m sure,” she murmured, dragging his lip between her teeth even as his broad palms slid around her hips.  “I trust you.”

He murmured her name even as his mouth found hers again, kissing her deeply, tongue tracing her lips.  She let out a short breath when her lips parted for him, fingers tightening in his hair as his tongue swept through her mouth.

And just like that, it was like the last inch of what they’d been holding back from each other fell away and all that was left was everything they had to offer.

Every draw of Cassian’s mouth against hers had her pressing further into him, the heat of his chest against hers, the pound of his heart through his shirt when one hand slipped down to brace against him, just over his heart. 

There was barely enough room to breathe, every inch of her awareness narrowed to the feel of his hands running down her back, pausing before she pushed back a little harder against him, surging up to deepen the kiss, drunk on the taste of him. The heat of his hands traveled farther down, cupping her ass and pulling her harder against him.

Heat flooded through her, wiping out any other sense. Desire banded low in her stomach and she couldn’t help the noise that escaped when he reached for the backs of her thighs, pulling her up in one brisk movement until she’d hitched her legs around his hips. 

In the moment she drew back slightly, breathless and clutching his shoulders, the tightness in them with the casual effort of holding her up, she caught the part of his lips, the upturn to the corners of his mouth in dazed happiness as he walked them back to the bed.

He radiated  _ want _ , glancing briefly up at her eyes before he was leaning in again. The draw between them had her meeting his kiss hot and messy, fingers winding through his hair, letting out a slight groan at the need pounding between her legs.

She couldn’t help the yelp that escaped when he deposited her on the mattress, breaking their kiss to crawl up after her even as his his hands found the hem of her shirt, wrapping around her bare waist.

He laved at her throat, tongue hot against her skin, sending heat throbbing through her at the thought of his tongue on other places of her body. The heavy weight of his hips held hers against the bed and she remembered the first time he’d nuzzled into her throat. That had been wound with tension, clouded desire. This was unhinged, desperate, like he couldn’t help sucking lightly just under her jaw to feel her chin tilt up, giving him as much access as he wanted.

Nesta wound her fingers in his dark hair, relishing the weight of him over her, her thighs parted around his torso.  His hand slid under her shirt, deliberate, as if he was trying to memorize every slope and curve to her body. And when the rough pads of his fingers brushed the underside of her breast, she sucked in a tight breath.

“I want to see you,” he growled against her throat even as she arched against him, just needing his hands a bit higher...

A muffled gasp she couldn’t help escaped when he took the hint, reaching to cup her bare breast, calloused fingers catching on her peaked nipple.

“You have to know how wonderful these are,” Cassian groaned against her neck, forearm braced next to her head on the bed.

A sly smile spread on her lips, fading when he circled her nipple with his thumb with the lightest touch, pausing only to tease her with a firmer tug. “I might know,” she hummed.

“You  _ know _ , Nesta,” he smirked, kissing the bend of her shoulder. “You know your tits are incredible.”

And when she pulled the hem of her shirt up, baring her stomach, Cassian was all too eager to help as they both grappled with the fabric to pull it over her head.

The sight of him after he’d cast it off the bed, eyes hungry and wide as he drunk in the view of her shirtless beneath him… She could practically feel his gaze caressing her bare skin, and then his hand followed... his lips.

Nesta jerked in surprise when his mouth descended, drawing her nipple between his teeth before pressing his tongue over her skin. Her hands came to the back of his head, nails digging into his hair with each scrape of his teeth.

She’d heard this sort of play was pleasurable but she’d never...

Another noise she couldn’t hold back when he switched to the other side, pausing to suck a mark against the side of her breast. The sight of him there, his dark head ducked against her skin as his tongue and teeth worked her...

She arched up against him, heels digging into the backs of his thighs.  The ache between her legs… she couldn’t...

So she grasped his hand tracing lines up and down her side, drawing it down, down until he reached the waistband of her loose trousers.

“No one’s ever--” she started, voice failing when he pulled away to look up at her, playing with the waistline of her pants.

Cassian shook his head, brow furrowing.  “We don’t have to--”

But she picked loose the drawstring around her hips and nudged his hand forward. “I’m telling you this because you’d better make it good,” she huffed. 

Cassian barked a laugh at that and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the skin just below her navel. “High standards, sweetheart. Should’ve known.” She rolled her eyes, cut short with a shudder as his breath wafted over her skin. He sunk down her body, pulling her pants and underwear down with fingers hooked into her waistband.

When she was completely bare before him, she shifted under his gaze, almost embarrassed, especially when he was still completely clothed.  But his own state seemed the last thing from his mind as he settled between her thighs, grasping the outside of her knee to carefully position each of her legs over his shoulders, avoiding his wings.

His wings...

Nesta was torn between watching his face, the way his nostrils flared at her scent, lips parting, as if he already couldn’t wait to taste her, and the way his beautiful black wings stretched over his shoulders, curled against his back and quivering. As if he was holding them back from unfurling entirely.

She imagined him over her, his weight pressing hers into the mattress and the glorious expanse of his wings stretched out over them.

Just the thought--the knowledge--that the night might very well end in just that had her biting her lip as she watched him kiss the inside of her thigh.

His arms curved around her hips as he glanced down. Down to the evidence of her desire already slick between her thighs. She wanted to shift to cover herself at the intimacy of his gaze. “If you don’t like anything--” he started.

But she dug her heels into the thick muscles just below his shoulder blades and urged him forward. “Are you going to keep talking or put your tongue to better use?”

“So demanding,” he teased with a smirk.

She was going to make another retort, but before she could get anything else out, he was diving forwards to lick a long stroke up through her folds.  She jerked in surprise, hips bucking towards the movement, fingers twisting in the sheets.

Cassian hummed against her, tugging her further down the bed and licking more firmly into her. His tongue circled the bead of nerves that had her gasping out a moan that could have been his name.

One hand reached behind her to clasp the headboard, anything to hold onto against the pleasure that throbbed through her with every press and circle of his tongue.  And when one broad palm spread below her navel, holding her in place against his mouth, she let out a groan.

He dug his fingers slightly into her soft flesh and she felt him nudge the bond between them.

It was all she could do to hold onto herself and even then, she trembled as his mouth descended, licking and kissing with the slightest drag of teeth and... Nesta arched against him when his tongue slid down, into her, tasting her even as his thumb pressed down on that spot just above...

The cry she let out was louder than she’d anticipated and she writhed against that broad hand clasped on her hips, reaching for the brink of pleasure she could only just feel in the distance.  

She needed him in her. Over her. Needed to know what it felt like to have that length she’d felt straining at his pants sliding inside her.

Nesta scrabbled at Cassian’s thick hair with her free hand as his tongue traced a tortuous path back up to circle that spot at the apex of her thighs, teasing...  And just as he flicked his tongue right where she needed it, her grip tightened in a fistful of his hair, because his finger was right where his tongue had been, sliding carefully inside.

Pleasure throbbed low in her belly, and when she gave his hair a particularly hard tug, he sucked, adding a second finger.

“Cassian--” Nesta bowed off the bed as he pumped in her, every bit of focus left in her body narrowing to the broad strokes and teasing flicks of his tongue, the delicious stretch of his fingers in her. His hands were so much bigger than hers and she’d never been able to get a good angle and the way he’d crook them up slightly at the end, licking and sucking...

She fell apart under his touch, shattering at the scrape of his teeth across her flesh. He eased slightly, but continued, fingers making sinful noises as he moved in her, even when she nudged his head up.

“Cassian--” she murmured, pleasure still wracking through her as her body trembled under his tongue and fingers.

But then the hand holding her hips still dragged up her stomach, covering her breast and rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

His hands... she’d been attracted to his hands from the start, the way they’d guided her into training positions. The way he gestured when he spoke sometimes. The way he’d shove one back through his hair. And now that they were on her, in her, she never wanted him to stop.

What he could do with those broad, calloused hands--

Noises she never thought she’d make fell from her lips freely, her hands twisting in the soft locks of his hair.

But just as she felt herself rising towards the brink of a second climax, Cassian drew away. She practically sobbed in frustration, growling and tugging him up, her leg sliding around his waist.

“You prick,” she muttered, hips searching for purchase as she ground up against the bulge in his pants, tugging at his shirt.  “You’re my mate and I hate you.”

His eyes were dark and ravenous, chin wet as he licked his lips. “You taste even better than I imagined, sweetheart,” he murmured, shifting so she could pull his shirt the rest of the way off, giving a quick tug and snapping the buttons at the back for his wings.

Nesta swallowed hard, toes curling when he ducked to bite at her throat, teeth scraping over her heated flesh.  His bare torso felt hot against hers, the hard, smooth bulges of muscle tense as he held himself over her. “Then why’d you stop?”

The throbbing between her thighs was so unbearable that she reached down herself, not thinking, only knowing what she needed.

Until his hand caught hers in a vise and he growled out, “ _ Don’t _ .”

“Why shouldn’t I,” she huffed, flexing her hand in his grasp even as he brought it up, pinning it to the pillow above her head.

A rush of heat in her stomach as he laved at the bend of her shoulder, working his way back down to her breast.  

“Because,” Cassian murmured and reached between her thighs again to test her wetness, dipping only slightly into her before drawing away.  She growled with frustration. “The next time you come tonight, it’ll be around my cock.” The sheer arrogance in the gesture, his words, that her pleasure should be at his hands. . .

Nesta reached over his shoulder with her free hand, smoothing her palm on the joint of his wing where it joined his body. He jerked against her in surprise, wings snapping shut. 

“You can’t just--” he said with a shudder, eyes falling shut. When she dragged a nail down the sensitive membrane, though, he snarled, grasping her hand and bringing it up over her head with her other, holding both wrists securely with one hand.

“I’m tired of waiting,” she growled, pulling his hips to hers with her legs wrapped around him.  “You’re mine and I want you now.”

Cassian let out a huff of air and released her hands even as he rose, finding her lips in a sloppy clack of teeth, his tongue sweeping through her mouth. Nesta groaned into the kiss, hands running greedily over his shoulders, then down between them to the hard ridge in his pants.

She ran her hand over him, feeling him twitch against her palm, and picked at the laces of his pants until they were loose enough to shove over his hips.

He helped her, lifting, and when he finally came free, hard and jutting out against the flat stretch of skin below his navel, her mouth went dry.

It was one thing to feel him against her, another to see... But then he’d wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her up the bed with him until he was seated back against the headboard and pulling her over him.

“It’ll be easier for you like this,” he murmured, his hands at ther hips sliding around to cup her backside as she straddled him.  “For your first time.”

Nesta carefully ran her hands up his shoulders, around to the back of his neck where she let his hair shift through her fingers. She swallowed and followed the line of his jaw, dark with a shadow of stubble, to his parted lips, the straight line of his nose. To his eyes.

The heave of their breaths mingled between them and she offered him a slow, easy smile.  “I’m glad it’s you,” she let out through a breath and leaned in to kiss him. It was steady and easy and had her digging her nails into his skin as she let her hands drift down, over the swells of muscle on his chest, down to his flat stomach, and finally, to wrap around the thick girth of him.

“Nesta,” he groaned against her lips, hands pulling her slightly closer, down over him.

She braced one hand on his shoulder as she lifted herself to position him, felt him nudging at her entrance. 

And slid down, down, just until it was uncomfortable to continue.  His head fell forward onto her shoulder and from the way he was gripping her hips, she could tell he was holding back, preventing himself from thrusting up into her.

She’d only guessed at what it would feel like to have a male in her, and this was beyond anything she could even imagine. The fit was tight and deep and she was so slick that she knew he could go farther if she wanted him to.

“Are you--” he started, but then she drew up, only to slide back down, a little farther this time, and he growled outright.

She braced herself against him, experimenting with the angle, if she rolled her hips as she slid back onto him, the throbbing that he’d frustratingly let fade before returning faster than she’d imagined.

The bond between them glowed white hot even as her thighs trembled with the effort of holding herself up, the nape of her neck damp both with the heat of his body pressed along hers and the energy that seemed to leak from every pore as her magic roiled about inside her.

“Cassian,” she bit out, hips rising and falling on him as she leaned forward to nuzzle into his neck.

“Mmm?” His wings were stretched out against the headboard, trembling, and she was almost sure his fingers would leave bruises on her hips. 

“I want--I need you to fuck me.”

Cassian groaned at that and he bit her lip, drawing her lip between his teeth. “And what do you call what we’re doing now, then?”

She growled, giving his hair a sharp, demanding tug. “You know what I m--”

But she was cut off when he grasped her around the waist, holding her against him as he pushed her back, until he was over her and she was lying back on the bed, legs around his hips. He thrust suddenly into her, deeper than she’d been moving on him, and she whimpered, breasts bouncing with the motion.

“Sweetheart,” he growled against her neck, biting at her skin as she clutched at him.  “You feel so fucking good, you know that?”

“How,” she murmured, before she even realized what she was asking, needing to hear his answer, wanting the deep rasp of his voice in her ear as his cock filled her.

“You’re fucking  _ tight _ ,” he growled, hips snapping into hers.

Heat flooded her already flushed cheeks.

“You’re so wet, Nesta.” 

She whimpered at the sound of her name on his lips while he was buried inside her. 

“Nesta,” he murmured again, seemingly beyond all other words. 

She tried to get his name out, but then he was grinding down against her, rubbing her clit with every thrust, and her desperation rose.

It was all she could do to hold onto him with him pushing into her, and his  _ words _ , the wicked things he murmured to her in the heat of his room, the fit of him inside her, the bond throbbing between them.

She could feel the steady heat of his pleasure through the bond, backed with the need for it to be  _ her _ he was with right now, and that alone, how much he  _ wanted _ this, made her movements against him quicken.

“Cassian--” she cried out as her climax came tearing through her and he growled against her throat, following quickly behind.

And in that moment, it was as if the world had narrowed to the bond between them that exploded through her in a burst of pleasure, love, joy.  And whatever she’d felt before, the tickle of a thread at the back of her mind, wove impossibly thicker until what rested between them wasn’t a thread or even a rope or chain, but the purest line of fire and adamant and marble.

Glowing hot between them. A part of each of them. 

And she could feel him on the other side as he eased them down, aware of his body, his thoughts, the throbbing pleasure through his own form heightening her own.

She caressed him through the bond and felt him shudder. Hypersensitive. Aware of her just as she was of him. 

Cassian. 

Her enemy turned friend. Lover. Equal. Mate.

\--

They lay wrapped around each other for longer than Nesta knew, or even cared to know.  All that mattered was that it was Cassian’s arm under her head, his nose nuzzling into her hair, and his hands drifting over her bare skin.  Wrapped in his scent, body warming hers with the heat that seemed to radiate off of him, Nesta propped her chin on his chest, tracing patterns on his stomach.

“When did you first begin to feel it?” She didn’t need to specify what she was talking about. Between them, their bond floated on strands of ebony consciousness and somewhere in the back of her mind, she was hyper aware of the beat of his heart, could even understand what it felt like to have her lying there against his side. 

He didn’t even take a moment to contemplate. “During your lessons back at the camp,” she felt his stomach dip with his huff of an exhale. “It was far too early in the morning and I’d already had to deal with some shit that went down at the troop’s morning drills. Elain grew a fern out of the ground and I looked over at you and you were just glaring at me with the most horrifying sneer,” he started chuckling. “Like you wanted to rip my balls off and bury me alive.”

Nesta couldn’t hold back a smile, humming. “That sounds like something I would do.”

“I could feel it, then. As much as I hated your stubbornness, your hate was shooting straight down that bond and I couldn’t ignore it. It didn’t help that I could also feel how much you wanted to fuck me.”

Nesta bit her lip, shaking her head. “I did  _ not _ want to fuck you.” 

Cassian looked down at her with one brow raised. “Yes you did.”

“I did  _ not _ ,” Nesta demanded firmer, pushing her hair back over her shoulder.

“Yes you did. You wanted to run these pretty hands all over me,” he said through a smirk and lifted their joined hands up to kiss her knuckles.

“Hmm, yes, well these pretty hands can strangle you in your sleep if you don’t watch out,” she said archly, but let his lips linger anyway as they moved to her wrist.  He kissed along the creases at the bottom of her hand, nipping at her skin. She’d be hardpressed to pull away even the slightest, not with the bond singing in her blood.

“I imagine they can do other things to wake me as well.”

When she looked up at him, he bore a wolfish grin, hair falling over his forehead. Cauldron damn everything, she loved him.

“Just because they can,” she said, unable to hold back her smile, “Doesn’t mean they will.”

Even as he acquiesced with a laugh, she settled back down on his chest, pressing her cheek against his skin. It felt almost odd letting herself lie there like that, without an excuse, not for warmth or comfort, but just because they could.  And it didn’t help matters that they were skin to skin.

Although she’d seen him in--altogether innocent--states of undress. . . catching a glimpse the tattooed slope of his torso for a few moments was one thing. Lying against it and tracing the dips and planes of muscle and bone was entirely another.

Although of course she’d known that his skin wouldn’t entirely be unmarred, she hadn’t been prepared for his scars. 

A few, of course, she was already familiar with. The white line jutting up from his elbow, the burn mark on the fleshy pad of his palm just below his thumb, the nicks on his fingers from stray blades, and even the faint line along his brow. 

Completely bare before her, the dips and lighter, shiny patches of skin marked by centuries of training and working his way through the ranks had left him more than a little battered. Even with naturally quick healing, his skin was a network of battles and accidents. Part of the territory of being the High Commander of the Night Court, she supposed, as much as it pained her to think of the wounds that had caused the scars in the first place.

Her hand wandering over his stomach rose to brush along the thick rope of scar tissue that ran from the uppermost swell of his abdomen down to his side, skating off in a shallow line at the hard plane of his hipbone. 

“Do they ever completely fade?” she asked curiously, watching his stomach dip with the breath he sucked in as she let her fingers slide over to the particularly nasty scar.

“That one’s two hundred years old,” he said, watching her trace his skin. “Have you ever heard of the Silent Walkers?”

“Should I have?”

He shrugged, the movement shifting her head. “They’re fairly obscure. Nasty devils though. They’ll have you on your back in half a beat of your heart if they catch you by surprise. One could take out at least a dozen Illyrian warriors if it wanted to.” He pat the scar on his abdomen. “Luckily I’m a little more proficient than a single--”

Nesta cleared her throat.  “Let me guess the rest of the story. You were all alone in the mountains. Night too dark to see even your hand in front of your face,” she said, dropping her voice into a low whisper, as if telling a story to a child.

Cassian looked put out, brow wrinkling.

She kissed his cheek and pushed off his chest to rise. “Next time you want to try and convince me something happened, maybe stop thinking about the possibilities of what you’ll make up.”

Rolling over, she reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, only to find it empty.  “I was going to--”

But just before she scooted off the bed, Cassian’s hands were sliding around her waist, tugging her back against the cradle of his bare torso.  “Don’t tell me you’re leaving this bed already, sweetheart,” he purred against the back of her shoulder.

All it took was the name and she was already ready for him again, swallowing hard. “I was  _ going _ to get some water.”

He pried the empty glass from her fingers, though, reaching around to set it back on the nightstand. “I think you can stand to wait till morning.”

Nesta bit back her smile as he kissed a slow, lingering line over the curve of her neck.  “And what time is it now?”

His hair fell loose over her shoulder as the hand at her stomach sunk down until the tips of his fingers brushed the curls between her thighs. “ _ Not _ morning.”

Nesta barked a short laugh because if she had to give him anything, he was amusing. Her laugh cut short though, when his fingers dipped farther down, gathering her wetness before circling the spot that had her breath catching.

She shifted back against him, clutching the thick forearm wrapped around her.  Swallowing when he pressed a little harder, she tried to pull herself together because it was ridiculous to want him this much so soon after they’d been together.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you about what happens after a mating bond is accepted?” he murmured against her jaw. He was already hard behind her.

Nesta huffed out a breath of frustration, leaning back into his chest. Her nails dug into the skin of his forearm at the motion of his calloused fingers over her, her thighs parting ever so slightly  more. “Sorry I didn’t just  _ arrive _ in Velaris suddenly knowing  _ everything _ about--”

She broke off suddenly when he slid a finger easily into her, biting her lip to keep from giving him the satisfaction of hearing her moan.

“I never said you should know everything.” He kissed her throat, the lightest press of his lips. “I was just asking.” All too innocent.

“Just tell me, you prick,” she bit out, almost crying out when he withdrew to start at the apex of her thighs again, teasing her.

She could feel his smile against her shoulder. “Is this how this relationship is going to go? I call you sweetheart and you call me prick?” 

Nesta let her eyes slip shut, a slow smile spreading on her face. “Maybe. Are you going to tell me about this or not?”

Cassian hummed, finger flicking over her. “Are you going to ask me nicely?”

Nesta growled. “No.”

“Ruining all my fun,” he just said with a click of his tongue, but seemed content to move on. “When most mating bonds are accepted, everything is new and overwhelming. Side effects are inevitable. After so much waiting, a bond’s new presence can be… intense.”

Nesta barked out a laugh. “You could say that.”

Cassian eased into a steady rhythm between her thighs and she could feel the tendons in his forearm shifting with his movements against her. “Which is why all you can think about right now,” he ducked closer, nipping at her shoulder, “is how much you want my cock in you.”

And at that moment his fingers slipped down, two pressing into her.

She let out the long groan she’d been holding in, hips moving against his fingers.

“I love the sounds you make,” he murmured roughly and she couldn’t hold back anymore, turning over her shoulder to find his mouth waiting for hers. 

The bond between them was already raw and heightened and it  _ hurt _ how much she wanted him. 

His fingers made slick noises in her, plunging in and out as his tongue swept through her mouth. He tore away all too quickly, ducking to her throat as she moaned.  “We have exactly a day and a half left and we’re going to spend every minute of it in this bed.”

Nesta reached behind her to card her fingers through his thick hair, holding onto it as his thumb pressed over her clit even as his fingers were in her. “That sounds... unimaginative,” she managed to get out.

“And where else do you suggest, then?”

It took a moment to collect herself when his free hand reached up to cup her breast.  “Don’t tell me you have that big shower just for yourself.  And if you don’t push me up against a wall--” she broke off in a gasp at the insistence of his fingers.

“What were you saying about that wall?” he murmured, voice low, dark.

She arched against him, fingers tightening in his hair. She just needed to hold onto something--anything--

“Sweetheart,” he continued, somehow still collected even when she was writhing against him, letting out another breathless noise at that name--that damn name.  She was all too close, bond throbbing, and--

“ _ Cassian _ ,” she let out in a broken moan, climaxing at the press of his fingers on and in her, other hand on her breast, breath hot over her throat and the heavy feel of him hard against her.

“Well,” he purred against her throat, movements slowing. “At least if all else fails I can always call you that name.”

She didn’t have the energy to even gently smack his shoulder, only groaning and shuddering when he withdrew his fingers from her. 

“Or fuck you against a wall.”

She turned in his arms at that, whirling on him so fast that he let out a grunt of surprise when her lips crashed into his and she pushed him suddenly onto his back on the mattress, groaning into his mouth.

He muttered a curse at her insistence, hands coming up to grasp her hips as she straddled him, reaching between them.  And as she positioned him, sliding down because she  _ needed _ this--needed him in her--he growled, hair splayed out on the rumpled sheets behind him.

She braced a hand on his chest until she’d lowered as far as she could. “You’re mine, Cassian,” she murmured, lifting up to ease back down.

His hands slipped to her thighs, digging into her flesh.  “I’m yours,” he repeated, head falling back.

She rode him slowly, steadily, murmuring over and over again that he belonged to her for longer than they’d live. That he could never forget that he was  _ hers _ and no one else’s. She rolled her hips against his until she was trembling and the hot warmth of him surrounding her, under her, in her.  Until his hard torso under her splayed fingers was slick with sweat and she leaned down to kiss him, his hands sliding up over the curve of her backside to her waist.

And when she ground down against him, coming with a sudden cry into his parted lips, he thrust up into her, finding his own release a few strokes later.

When she started to come down from her high, sprawled across him, Nesta could feel his hands running lightly over her back until she let out a groan, propping her chin on his shoulder to kiss the side of his neck. “You  _ are _ mine, though,” she said, shifting her hips against him.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” he said quietly and his fingers tangled in the ends of her hair.

Nesta let her lips drift over his jaw, cupping the other side of his face until she reached his ear, nibbling at his skin.

He sucked in a long breath, nuzzling into her hair. “Mmhhhh, Sweetheart, I’m going to need more than thirty seconds.”

She grinned into his skin. “Some Illyrian,” she scoffed, waiting for the protest she knew was coming.

“All right, now,” he said quickly and she only smirked, nearly squealing when he flipped her over on her back, the sounds of their laughter filling the room.

\--

Nesta had almost thought that Cassian was kidding when he said they’d spend the next day and a half in bed. The hours wound by lying together, his wings spread out behind him and his arm under her head. She’d drift off from time to time pressed against the warmth of him, cheek against his skin, only to be awakened by his fingers drifting down, or the gentle brush of his hair as his head sunk down her stomach with slow, even kisses.

And as much as he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her, she could barely wrap her mind around anything but the feel of him. Memorizing the dips of muscle along his torso, brushing over his scars, dragging her nails through the trail of hair beneath his navel, tasting his sun-tanned skin.  She never wanted to  _ stop _ touching him.

The thought of him leaving so soon. . . it was too much to consider so she pushed it entirely from her mind, losing herself instead in what it felt like to be with him.  She hadn’t known what she’d been expecting, but... somehow it hadn’t been this. It almost felt like nothing had changed between them save for the fact that she didn’t--couldn’t--conceal the fact that she wanted him.

It was  _ absurd _ how much she wanted him.  Every teasing phrase, the brush of his hand over her back, his scent washing over her, had her ravenous for more.

At some point when the sun was just beginning to peer through the curtains, she’d drifted awake to his gentle breaths on the back of her shoulder, one arm thrown over her waist and the other under her head. Their legs were tangled together and she could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest behind her, the faint beat of his heart through the bond.

Just the feel of his body curled behind hers was enough to have her ready and wanting again, so she’d reached for the hand resting on her stomach, threading her fingers through his, and slowly shifted her hips back until she could feel him.

It’d taken less than a minute for him to stumble back into consciousness and he’d pulled her more firmly into the cradle of his hips, mumbling something sleepily against her neck.  When she arched back against him, he’d reached between them enough to nudge into her, and they made love slowly, still half asleep, in the quiet dawn.

By the time mid morning hit and Nesta could feel the ache between her thighs starting to set in, she eased out of the circle of his arms to pad to the bathing room she’d snooped through a few days ago.

Upon returning, she paused at the foot of the bed, letting out a huff of laughter at the sight of him sprawled across the sheets where she’d been curled into him, the blankets completely shoved to the foot of the mattress where they spilled over the edge. 

Half on his side, wings spread, relaxed in the morning sun, he was the very image of comfort. Against the white sheets, his skin practically glowed a rich brown, intersected with scars. She let her eyes drift from his hair--tangled from sleep and her hands--down to his broad shoulders, the dark expanse of his wings faintly pink and silvery in the sunlight. Farther down to where his back dipped in the slope at the base of his spine, the two dimples above an equally interesting area...

Nesta crawled back up the bed, kissing his cheek down to the side of his neck, letting her teeth drag over his skin. He shifted slightly, and when she let her hands drift over his shoulders, nudging him until he rolled onto his back, shuffling to readjust his wings, he blinked, squinting against the sun.

“Shhh,” she murmured before he could say anything, pressing a gentle kiss to his collar bone. She sunk down his body, lips trailing over the swells of muscle in his abdomen, down, down until she could feel his eyes on her, peering out from under the arm he’d thrown over his eyes.

She glanced up, settling between his thighs.  His lips were slightly parted, eyes still heavy with sleep, even when other parts of him seemed quite entirely awake.

She still hadn’t really  _ touched _ him. Had never touched any male before. So she took him carefully in her hand, and ducked to take him in her mouth.

Cassian let out a heavy breath, hips shifting.  She’d only heard of what to do, murmured between girls when they thought no one could hear, and she moved her head down until she didn’t want to continue, wrapping her fingers around the rest.

She didn’t quite know what she was doing but he seemed to be enjoying it, head falling back onto the pillows. After a few strokes, he reached down, threading his hand through her hair, pulling her into a steady motion against him.

She knew he was holding back from thrusting up into her, muscles tight in his stomach as his lips parted with each heavy breath.

“Is this--” she pulled back to ask at one point when he’d seemed to calm down slightly.

He unwound his hand from her hair, reaching down to grasp himself. “Use your tongue,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Here,” and his thumb traced over the head.

When she ducked again, doing as he’d suggested, he muttered a curse, fingers threading through her hair again.

“Mmhh, sweetheart,” he groaned as she continued, playing to the sounds of his breathing, the tension she could feel rising on the other side of the bond.  She worked him faster, harder, until he was tugging on her hair, urging her up.

“If you don’t stop soon--” he murmured, breathless. “You don’t have to--”

But she didn’t stop, pushing him higher and higher until he let out a barked curse, one hand twisting in the sheets, the other in her hair, and she stroked him until he was twitching against her, his pleasure resounding between them.

“And you said you wouldn’t wake me up like that,” he murmured smugly, hand brushing over her cheek as she rose up his body, settling against his side. 

“Maybe you should get used to surprises,” she replied, eyebrow rising. She didn’t think she’d ever tire of the slow, easy smile that spread on his lips as he leaned down to kiss her.

**\--**

Sometime lost in the hours in bed together, when the sun streaming through the window slanted in warm rays across the floor, Nesta awoke to the distant pounding of a fist on wood. 

Next to her, Cassian groaned, half asleep with his wings spread in a patch of sunlight.

Nesta shifted, tucking herself closer to the heat radiating from the form at her side. She yawned at the fatigue holding her against the mattress, squinting into the room.  Between the lack of sleep and their rather... vigorous activities, she didn’t even want to think about dragging herself out of bed. Not when her mate was lying so close, their feet brushing under the bunched sheets around their calves.

But the knocking continued, insistent, and Nesta groaned, elbowing Cassian in his side. 

He only grunted until she dug in harder. “There’s someone at the door,” she mumbled.

Cassian’s eyes cracked open just as another pounding knock came and a call, shouting at “that lazy Illyrian prick” to “get his ass out of bed already.” 

Nesta huffed. Mor.  “You’re being summoned.”

Cassian let out another groan, longer this time, and peeled himself from the mattress. “And why can’t  _ you _ answer the door?” he asked drily as he sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand down his face and back through his hair.

Nesta shifted as his gaze ran over her bare form against his sheets. “I’m indecent.” 

He only snorted, shaking his head through a smile as he rose, entirely as uncovered as she was. 

More pounding on the door, cursing filtering through the painted wood. 

Nesta could barely hear them as she watched Cassian rummage through a drawer, stark naked, until he found a pair of pants. 

“I’m coming,” he growled at Mor’s shouts. At least she didn’t sound desperate. Only insistent. 

A faint response, for him to get his ass downstairs already. 

“I’m coming!” he repeated, louder, impatient as he tugged the pants up around his hips, pulling the laces tighter as he made for the door.

Nesta bit her lip through her smile. Mor was going to get an earful, that was for certain.  A succinct speech about when it was and was not appropriate to go around  _ banging _ on people’s doors.

She was just going to wait there in bed for him to send Mor on her way, but then her smile faded when she heard Mor’s teasing laugh from downstairs after he’d opened the door.

Mor was. . . Mor was entirely beautiful, all curves and thick blonde hair and red lips. And she was standing downstairs. Alone with her mate. 

Nesta frowned, tapping her finger on her stomach. 

A growl from Cassian and another resounding laugh from the woman. 

She was up in an instant, hauling the sheet off the bed and wrapping it around herself as she flew out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! Or come join me on my trashcan on [tumblr](http://pterodactylichexameter.tumblr.com)!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look a chapter! And it has smut!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow look at that I actually managed to post the next chapter
> 
> there be smut within

Nesta knew they had a single night left. One single, solitary night before Cassian and Mor headed off to join the rest of Rhys’s Inner Circle, and the hours ticked by faster than she could count. She’d snapped at Mor earlier in the afternoon, hadn’t meant to, but the way she was standing so close to him, so close to her  _ mate _ … It was nothing to do with Mor and it was nothing to do with Cassian either. It was her own damn fault.

Cassian had looked on in shock as she’d shot down the stairs, sheet clutched around her, snarling. 

Mor had backed up quickly, surprise written on her face as she’d realized. She’d cursed, looking between the two of them as Nesta stepped in front of Cassian, into the shelter of his body. She hadn’t cared that her hair was a mess or that she  _ smelled _ of him, or even that she was already ready for him again, only that Cassian was her mate. Even thinking back on it, Nesta wanted to groan at her defensiveness. Mor didn’t deserve her lack of control.

“Well,” Mor had only said, still wide-eyed. “I suppose this means you won’t be joining us for dinner tonight.” 

After Mor had bit back a smile and said that she’d leave them be, the door had barely shut behind her before Cassian was hoisting Nesta up against it, scrambling to have the sheet gone until it dropped to the floor.  He’d had her hard and fast her with her heels digging into his ass, lips near her ear murmuring, low, that they were each other’s.

And that evening, when she’d curled into his side as he pushed around vegetables in a pan over the woodfire stove, she took a deep breath, the question that had been prodding at her for the past day--week--weeks. “Tomorrow,” she said clearly, voice low as she stared into the pan instead of his face. “When you and Mor leave, I want to come with you.” 

Cassian’s hand froze on the wooden spoon, methodically continuing even when she knew the food in front of them was the farthest thing from his mind. “Nesta...” 

“I know what you’re going to say,” she said, quicker. “I’m not trained enough and neither is Elain. But I’m not--we’re not--weak and you can’t... I won’t just sit at home like some--some ignorant wife of yours and--”

“Nesta,” Cassian said firmly, turning to face her, brow furrowing. “Nesta... Nesta, look at me.” He grasped her shoulders, then when she was still shaking her head, cupped her cheeks. “ _ Nesta _ .” He drew her chin up to look up at him, hazel eyes dark with worry.

She didn’t think he would do that. Knew he wouldn’t sideline her like that, but it didn’t mean that she still didn’t--

“Nesta, I don’t want to go anymore than you do. I swear I don’t. You have to understand that.  And you can be sure that Mor feels the same way.” Through the bond, still new and tender and overwhelming, she could feel the ache of having to talk about this, solidified with that sense of duty that ran so firmly through his being. “But there’s no choice when it comes to that. We don’t have a choice. But you and Elain do. And you should take advantage of that privilege.”

She met his eyes, but shook her head. “If everyone else is fighting. If  _ Feyre _ is fighting, then I want to too.  I’m not going to--” she ducked, wrapping her arms around him just because she could, pressing her forehead against his chest and breathing in his scent. “I want to be there, Cassian.  And this isn’t just the bond talking. It’s not just because…” she drifted off, and then the words spilled out of her mouth, “because the thought of leaving you for even three seconds is so horrifying. It’s not because of that.” 

At another time, he might have chuckled, laughed and teased her about not wanting to leave him, but now, with the eve of battle approaching, she knew he felt it too.  That irascible need spend what little time they might have together.

She looked up at him and his hand found her cheek, cupping it until she leaned into his touch.  She didn’t even have to speak and he already knew what she meant. That she couldn’t sit around this time and stay silent when their friends,  _ her _ friends, her sister, her mate, were walking into what could very well likely be a trap. She’d done enough sitting around already and look where that had gotten her.

“It’ll be worse,” he only said, voice low.  “With the bond so new.  If you’re there on the battlefield, I won’t be able to keep away from you.”

Nesta bit her lip, knowing what he was saying, what he was begging her not to do. He wasn’t asking her to stay for any protective need he might feel, but for her own happiness.  She saw the prospect flash through his mind, what he was terrified of. That she’d be shot down in the heat of battle and he wouldn’t be able to get to her in time. Or that she’d see  _ him _ crumple, would blame herself for what he thought was his incompetence.  He wanted her to stay so she wouldn’t have to witness what he feared.

“Then I’ll be there with you,” she said firmly, because she wasn’t taking no for an answer. She hadn’t been asking him for permission to go, she was  _ telling _ him.  “You won’t have to keep away because I’ll be by your side the entire time. And if anyone so much as  _ touches _ you, they’ll have me to contend with.” 

He huffed a short laugh even though a smile didn’t so much as lift the corners of his mouth.  “My place is on the front lines, you know that.”

Nesta cocked her head. “Then I’ll be on the front lines, too.  That doesn’t scare me.” 

She felt the jolt through the bond. Of previous battles, earth soaked with blood, sweat, and shit. The squalor of dying fae, Illyrians, humans, all jumbled into one, and the nightmares and tremors that followed in their wake.  “It should,” he only murmured, and she knew then, that it scared  _ him _ . 

The High Commander of the Night Court, whose power was seven times that of an Illyrian warrior, who’d lived,  _ survived _ for centuries.. Who could best his High Lord in hand to hand combat and who’d seen his wings torn to shreds and pieced back together.  He was  _ afraid _ of the battle to come. 

Nesta reached for his hand, twining their fingers together. “Don’t you remember that an entire camp of Illyrian warriors were ready to piss themselves when I arrived?  I’m a force to be reckoned with, I’ll have you know. On  _ and _ off the battlefield.” 

Something in her eased when he cracked a smile at that, faint, but still there. It relaxed part of her, to see him smiling. The way he should be. “My hellcat,” he murmured. And through the bond, she felt the follow up. What he whispered through that line between them, too precious for even spoken words.  _ My mate _ .

She lingered slightly in that moment, the way he nudged her, thumb stroking her hand where their fingers were joined. “Now that that’s settled,” she said, gently extricating herself from him to pick up the wooden spoon he’d set down, pushing the peppers over.  “We have one night and we’re  _ not _ going to spend it talking about this.” 

He sidled up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. Sometime earlier, when they’d both decided, stomachs growling, that they needed real food, she’d thrown on whatever she could find, which turned out to be his shirt. It smelled like him, warm and falling around her thighs and he rucked it up, hands splaying across her hips. “As much as I don’t want you to have to be there,” he murmured, close enough to her ear she could feel his breath, “It would be an honor to have you have you at my side.”

Nesta took a deep breath, ignoring the ache that they’d only just started this, and in the morning, they’d have to leave it all behind. Leave the safety of Velaris. Of his house, with the red door, and the way he left books lying around, the rumpled bed and those huge open windows looking out over the courtyard.

She only bit back a smile and pressed more firmly into his chest, opening the bond ever so slightly wider.  He didn’t laugh at the way she gave him a nudge, a mental caress as much as a physical one, and settled against her body and mind in the quiet warmth of the kitchen.

\--

By the time the next morning came and Nesta returned to the guest room where she’d cast the bag of her things from the camp, she’d pulled on the Illyrian fighting leathers with grim determination. Cassian had helped her finish getting into them, adjusting straps, attaching weapons to her body every which way, murmuring quietly as he went about their purposes. 

And then, in the silence of the grey dawn, she’d helped him into his, adjusting what he told her needed tightening or loosening, holding the sword strapped down his spine in place as he buckled the straps around his chest, making sure his gauntlets were secure, running her finger over the smooth red stones on the backs of his hands in the process.

As she gave an experimental tug on the front fastenings of his chest piece, just over his stomach, his hand rose to push back a stray bit of hair that had escaped from the braid she’d woven slowly in front of the mirror that morning.

Between them, the bond was surprisingly calm. She could feel his distant anxiety, and she had her own buried in the depths of her awareness, but now, ever since the sun had started to peek over the horizon and she’d awoken, entirely conscious in one moment, her world had narrowed in to the next few days ahead of them. Her worries were a mere unsettled roll in her stomach. 

There wasn’t time for that anymore. She knew what they had to do and there was no sense in dreading it, not when it was so close. 

They hadn’t allowed themselves to linger in bed as they had the previous morning. He’d only pulled her to him for a moment, lips brushing her forehead, and they’d risen wordlessly to eat a quick breakfast. And had started preparing. 

Packing light bags. An extra set of clothes. The essentials and nothing more, and then dressed in his room. 

And when Cassian had gone to tie his hair up, Nesta just pulled on his arm with a simple, “I want to.” She’d made him sit on the edge of the bed while she knelt behind him, combing carefully through his thick waves before separating it, weaving a loose braid down the top of his head, two small ones just above his ears to hold the shorter strands back from his face, all gathered into a bun at the back of his head. 

When she’d finished, asking him if anything was too tight or uncomfortable, he’d just patted it down, eyed it in the mirror, and offered her a reassuring smile and a thank you. If they’d had the opportunity, she would’ve dragged him back to bed because he looked  _ good _ . 

He was broad-shouldered and powerful in the heaviest set of his leathers, the hilt of his sword rising between his shoulder blades, crimson siphons gleaming, knives strapped to each strong thigh.  His hair was pulled back from his face, and he even smelled of her now. 

It would be obvious once they were in public that they were mates. And she’d thought that perhaps when she’d be married (even though she knew this wasn’t marriage exactly) that she would be ashamed or shy away from anyone seeing her with someone they might judge her for.  But Cassian? She was proud to call him her mate. 

He seemed to know what she was thinking, eyeing her curiously, because he was holding back a smile. She only reached for his hand and drew him down to her, once, before they left, for a slow, sweet kiss. Perhaps their last few moments in safety.

They emerged out of the house early enough that the street still seemed to be drifting into awareness, a distant creak of the well rope in the square nearby, the quiet pad of a grey cat trotting through the gutter looking for a meal, and the rattle of a wagon over the cobblestones a street away.

Cassian had told her last night that they were meeting in the House of Wind before departing, so she stepped close to him, letting him scoop her into his arms. Barely a single breath later, he launched into the sky and they were airborne.

Nesta’s stomach dropped and her fingers dug tighter into his shoulders, wind tearing her braid over her shoulder, but she didn’t say anything. Neither did Cassian, but through the bond, she felt him give her a teasing nudge at her reaction.

“We can’t all be Illyrian,” she replied quietly in his ear, a small smile gracing her lips.

Cassian only gave her one of his looks and said, “You’re more Illyrian than I am, sweetheart.” 

Her smile widened slightly at that and she watched the powerful pulse of his wings for the rest of their short flight, eyes grazing over the silvery membrane drawn tight in the updrafts. 

The previous night when they’d sent a letter over to Mor and Elain, explaining that Nesta would be joining Cassian and Mor, they’d gotten a single reply back in Mor’s hand: “Elain too.” 

And though a part of Nesta ached at the prospect of Elain putting herself in that sort of danger, she knew there was no use stopping her, not if she was determined to do it. And she understood why Elain would make that choice. Especially with Feyre about to break away from the Spring Court, risking everything. She understood why it mattered that she and Elain were both there at Feyre’s side.

By the time they approached the sprawling house, Mor and Elain were already standing on the balcony. The closer they drew, the clearer Nesta could see the beaming grin on Elain’s face.

Her sister was wearing her own set of Illyrian leathers, braid pulled over one shoulder, and Nesta wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen Elain happier.

So Mor had told her, then.

And before Nesta could even  _ begin _ to address the situation, clambering out of Cassian’s arms, Elain was launching herself at her, throwing her arms around Nesta so hard that she stumbled with the motion.  

Nesta bit back a smile, something like relief falling through her that Elain was glad for her. “I take it you’re not disappointed, then?” It felt odd addressing the bond so outright. It was one thing in the safety of their own home, quite another out in the open.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Elain only replied and drew back, looking then to Cassian who was still standing at her back. “I’ll hug you later. Lest I get mauled to death if I get any closer,” she said, giving a pointed look to Nesta.

He burst into laughter at that and Nesta only huffed a breath, not failing to notice that Mor kept a healthy distance between her and Cassian. 

“I  _ am _ sorry about--” she tried to say to Mor, but the woman just stepped forward, smiling and taking Nesta’s hands.

“No offence taken, it happens,” she just said with a little laugh.  “I’ll keep my distance for a while, don’t worry, he’s all yours.” She winked and for a moment Nesta forgot that they were about to walk into hostile territory in the next few moments. She’d thought this would be a far more solemn parting, but perhaps this was all they could do, enjoy what they could when they could. 

And then Cassian’s hand brushed her back and even then she could feel her pulse quicken at the gesture. “He  _ is _ mine, isn’t he?” Nesta only said, smiling up at him and wishing that they could have one last moment before they left. 

But after a moment, Mor cleared her throat. “We really should get going. Before you two jump each other.”

Nesta’s cheeks flooded with heat and she tore her eyes away from Cassian to face the other women.

Last night, Cassian had filled her in on the details of their movements for the upcoming days. With armies massing in the Spring Court, and Rhys ready to transport his own armies onto their land at a moment’s notice, they were relying entirely on Feyre to keep the fronts quiet and Tamlin unaware. No easy feat, to block a High Lord’s magic from reading threats walking freely into his lands, but between the confusing mess of Hybern’s beasts and soldiers and Feyre’s daemati powers, Cassian had assured her that if anyone could do it, it would be her, especially with Rhys there to help.

They’d need to stop Hybern before they marched on the wall. Before they managed to tear it down and wreak havoc on both human and Faerie worlds alike. 

For now, the four of them would winnow into the outskirts of Spring territory, where Tamlin’s magic would be less attuned to the sudden burst of Night Court presence and power in his court. 

When Nesta had asked where Azriel was, curious when Cassian hadn’t even mentioned him, Cassian had given a bark of rough laughter and said that not even he knew. Amren and Rhys were in the Autumn Court, trying to make allies, to persuade the scum Nesta knew resided there to assist in the battle for Prythian. Cassian already had the location from Feyre--through Rhys--where to head once they’d arrived in the outskirts of Spring.

Mor would winnow them in and she said as such, nodding to Cassian and Nesta. “You two first, I’ll come back for you, Elain. It’ll only take a few moments.” 

Nesta hated that she stiffened slightly when Mor grasped Cassian’s arm, but Mor just wound her arm through Nesta’s. “Hackles down, Nesta, I’ll be gone in a minute.” 

And in the space of a blink, she winnowed them into the Spring Court. 

\--

Spring greeted Nesta with  the slam of humidity and the overwhelming scent of damp earth. It was at her first breath in, at the smell of life, and with it, decay, that Nesta realized how much she preferred the cool, dry air of the Night Court. They’d winnowed into the forest, lush and thick with fluttering leaves and rich browns and heavy yellow-gold mosses, the evergreens and pines of the Illyrian mountains replaced broad oak and poplar. 

Mor released them and was gone a second later.

Nesta glanced around the forest as Cassian stalked a few feet away, examining the sun through the trees and circling a tree once. It was warmer here, whether from some magic or their position in Prythian, Nesta didn’t know and she didn’t much care. 

The air around them felt... different, teeming with life. The forests in the Illyrian mountains had been deadly quiet, and she’d known that if something was out there (as it probably was) it was more than capable of hiding itself, sneaking up on her with accuracy bent on the kill. Here it seemed that the life around them  _ couldn’t _ be quiet. Insects buzzed in the trees, wind rustling leaves, a branch cracking in the distance.

Such  _ noise _ . It was unbearable and she hadn’t even been there for a full minute. 

And then Mor was back, Elain in tow this time, stumbling a little at the force of stepping through the fabric of the world. Nesta didn’t blame her.

“We’re heading west,” Cassian said, nodding through the forest, fiddling with the knife strapped to the underside of his forearm. 

“To where exactly?” Elain asked as they set off. 

“Rhys was... vague,” Mor said through a huff, rolling her eyes at her cousin’s secrecy. “But we know the general location. There’s a cluster of hills higher than the rest, the perfect vantage point. Wooded for protection. Feyre left a beacon. It’s where we’ll set up camp and start to winnow the armies in. Close to Tamlin’s estate. A little  _ too _ close for comfort if you ask me.” 

“Nothing about what we’re doing is comfortable,” Nesta said, snapping her jaw shut, glancing to Cassian.

“No,” Mor only said, but Nesta’s eyes were fastened on Cassian, watching the way he never seemed to let his gaze rest for too long, always alert. 

“We’re making the best of our options, and sometimes that’s all you can do,” Cassian said, glancing over at Nesta, holding her eyes longer than usual. 

Nesta eyed him for a moment, the hard set to his face, mouth a firm line. He hadn’t smiled since they’d arrived in Spring, the light in his eyes dulled as he settled back into his role as commander. 

The options they  _ did _ have were few and far between, but they were ones they had at all because of Feyre. 

And these Fae, Illyrians, centuries old, were  _ relying _ on Feyre and her wit, cunning, intelligence. The whole of Prythian rested had been placed, trusting, into her baby sister’s hands. 

Nesta tried to remember when anyone had trusted her with much of anything. 

They trekked through the forest in relative silence. Only once did they stop, gathering around Cassian as he put up a shield around them all, shifting them into invisibility at Mor’s magic reporting back to her to let her know there was something in the area. 

The faint walk of whatever beast it had been, prowling somewhere closeby, passed slowly on deft feet that sounded more cloven than padded. They broke carefully over the layer of earth and leaves, and even though she couldn’t see it, couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, couldn't even see herself, a dry shiver coursed up Nesta’s spine. 

Her nails dug tighter into Cassian’s arm when she’d caught its scent on the wind: sickly sweet warm blood and a deeper scent, like rotting wood.  Cassian hadn’t voiced his worry, or even if he knew what it was, but she knew--even when she couldn’t see him, she’d known--that he’d had his hand resting on his blade strapped down his back the whole while. 

“Sentries,” Mor had only said once the threat passed them by. “For Hybern.” 

And none of them had said anything, but Nesta didn’t have to look at Cassian to know what he was thinking: They were getting close to the wall. 

By the time nightfall arrived, the woods were filled with sound. Crickets, cicadas, other, deeper calls between what must have been lesser faeries. Although both Mor and Cassian had told her the woods was practically teeming with them, she’d never caught more than a glance of a creature out of the corner of her eyes: a slender, cracked body flitting from tree to tree, darting behind trunks, even a darker, bulbous face like a mushroom that peered up from a pile of decomposing leaves.

Their group never seemed to be alone, and it made her skin crawl, to think of everything that had eyes on them when she could only begin to sense their presence. To say nothing of what she couldn't detect at all.

Eventually, when the night grew too dark to continue, they had to stop and make camp, the white moon lighting her hands as she sat and went about pulling food from her pack. 

They didn’t dare make a fire and Elain walked with Mor around the perimeter as they set tripwires of woven powers, in case anything decided to try and attack when they were off their guard. The two women had been keeping away for the entire day and didn’t seem to mind leaving Nesta and Cassian to their own devices, even when they weren’t doing anything but walking.

And as much as Nesta wouldn’t have minded traveling at her sister’s side, she wouldn’t complain about her unanticipated time with Cassian either. 

She listened to the quiet sounds of Elain and Mor circling the camp, Mor explaining what she was doing and having Elain try her own traps. Nesta glanced back over to Cassian, watching him for a moment. He was still grim-faced, going about methodically pulling his bedroll from his pack. She had no doubt that he’d done this dozens, hundreds of times, the clockwork efficiency of a commander who knew what he needed to do. 

“So,” she said conversationally, “Are you going to sleep hanging from the trees like a bat or stay on the ground with me?” 

Cassian paused what he was doing, still squatting, a half-unwrapped loaf of bread in his hands. She just rose, biting back a smile, feeling his questioning through the bond, the break in the solemn mood they’d had all day. He couldn’t believe that  _ she _ was the one making a joke for once.

She was almost relieved to see the smile on his face when he looked up at her, forearms braced on his thighs.  He caught on faster than she bargained for. “Actually, I was hoping you’d hang from the tree with me.” His teeth reflected white in the moonlight.

“And how do you propose I do that?” she asked archly, crossing her arms.  That anxiety rising in her belly from the day was easing with each passing moment. Although there’d been a time where she’d only seen him for his smirks, his frustration, his anger, she  _ needed _ his unbridled joy. 

“Well, for starters...” he only said and dropped the bread on his open pack, launching up before she even saw his dark wings unfurl, catching her around the waist.  She yelped, clutching the front of his leathers, and in three quick pumps of his wings, they were up in the oak on the south side of their camp, perched on one of the massive boughs, the ground almost entirely hidden from sight. 

“Cassian,” she hissed, grabbing his arm to steady herself on the bark underfoot. “I was only kidding, you didn’t have to--” 

From down below, Mor’s voice called up. “If you two get eaten by something in those trees, you won’t see me crying about it.” 

Elain’s small giggle wandered up, but Nesta was suddenly entirely preoccupied with the fact that Cassian was shifting closer, tucking his wings in and bracing his arm on the trunk behind her head. Around them, the leaves shifted and she could hear the muted screech of an owl in the distance. 

“They’ll hear us,” she whispered, even as she wanted this, already hyper aware of her mate backing her against the tree, his eyes fastened on her lips. 

Cassian hummed, ducking to press a soft kiss just under her jaw. “Well, then I suppose you’ll have to be quiet, won’t you sweetheart?”  His voice rumbled against her skin and she took a shuddering breath, trying to hold herself together even when his scent pressed into her, leather and soap and cloves. 

One hand resting lightly on her waist, his nose grazed her throat as he traced a slow, deliberate line over to the other side of her jaw, kissing there too. She hissed his name again, though admittedly slightly weaker. Still though, she at least had to keep a sense of decorum, didn’t she? Just because they were mated now didn’t mean that they could just fuck whenever they wanted. They needed to get some rest, a good night’s sleep on at least a semi full stomach and--

She bit her lip when his lips parted against her throat, tongue reaching out to trace her skin.  She didn’t draw away.

“Although,” he said after a moment, pulling up to look up thoughtfully. “You do seem to have a hard time keeping quiet so maybe we shouldn’t.” He made to pull away, retracting.

Nesta growled slightly, hand sliding behind his head to guide his mouth to hers.  The kiss was soft at first, until he let out a low noise from the back of his throat, lips parting, and shifted closer, pressing her back against the tree’s trunk.

“They can definitely hear us,” Nesta murmured against him, breathless, when his hand slid into the hair at the nape of her neck, the other shifting down from her waist to grab her backside.  Her free hand was curved around his torso, resting on his lower back.

“They just left.” 

She jerked away, giving him a look because of course they hadn’t just left.

He just gave a shrug, eyes wide, motioning for her to look over and see for herself. 

She only gave him a glare, prodding him through the bond, and he moved aside to let her see, hand sliding out of her hair, the hand on her hip remaining, steadying her.

Still thinking he was trying to pull one over on her, Nesta peered over the edge of the massive bough underfoot. And when she found the camp empty, she only just picked up Mor and Elain’s scent downwind. 

Fine then, maybe they  _ had _ left because of her and Cassian but that didn’t mean that now they were alone they couldn’t have a slight reprieve from their day’s journey. She was about to lean back over when Cassian’s hands jolted against her hips, giving her a little shove.

A curse flew out of her mouth, feet slipping a little, and she flailed for the branch overhead. One arm caught a few leaves, the other managing to grasp Cassian’s arm hard enough that her nails dug into his skin.

“Of all the--” Nesta started, whirling on his smug face, the  _ ass _ . Because she knew he’d pushed her.  “If you think you can do things like that to me all the time just because we’re mates, then you’re in for a surprise,” she bit out, even as he was obviously trying not to grin at his own foolishness.

She was mated to a child. A damn child who--

“I wasn’t going to let you  _ fall _ ,” he insisted, even though he could very well hear her panicked heartbeat. 

Still, as much as she glared at him, she didn’t protest when he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her back from the edge of the branch.  “Does it look like I enjoy being almost  _ shoved _ out of a tree?” And as much as she tried to stay mad, just for the  _ principle _ of the matter at hand, he was walking her back against the tree again.

“I promise I won’t  _ pretend _ to  _ shove _ you off a tree branch again,” he murmured, and she didn’t care anymore, reaching up to grab him around the back of the head, pulling his mouth down to hers.

This time, their kiss wasn’t hesitant. She knew she wanted him and she wanted him  _ now _ .  Through the bond, his answering urgency sung through her.  He kissed her hungrily, pushing her harder against the bark and already pulling at the straps around her hips. 

He growled her name against her lips and everything in her world reduced to the feel of him, the taste of his tongue, the hard expanse of his body trapping her against the tree, his hands tugging the knives strapped to her hips loose, vanishing them in mid air to the ground below so they wouldn’t drop.

“Cassian--” she started, swallowing when his mouth tore from hers, trailing down her neck and pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses down her throat.  She reached down, grasping him through the front of his leathers.

He growled in response, pressing into her hand and pushed the fitted trousers of her leathers down. 

“I can’t just--” she tried when he’s pushed her garments down to her thighs, underwear going with them. But then he was reaching between her legs, fingers slipping through her slick folds and it was suddenly difficult to even breathe, much less find the words to speak.

She let out a long moan, grasping his forearm to steady herself as he stroked her, gathering her wetness before circling her clit. 

“If you’re not quiet, every beast within five miles of here is going to come running,” he murmured, voice rough and near her ear.

She bit her lip, scrabbling at his shoulders with her free hand, nails digging into the hard leather. He rubbed over her hard and fast, dipping down once to slide two fingers into her, crooking them up and drawing her ear between his teeth. She was flushed, panting and entirely overwhelmed with what he was doing to her, even when she wanted more, just wanted him in her, hoisting her up against the rough bark and taking her there.

“I want you,” she murmured, and reached down again, fumbling at the laces of his trousers until they were loose enough to shove slightly down his hips, just enough to reach inside. He was already hard when she grasped him and he let out a low breath against her skin.  “Now.” 

His hands tangled with hers in an effort to both pull at the last bit of fabric over him, but then he was cursing when he moved to pick her up to press her against the tree.

With her pants around her thighs, they wouldn’t part around his hips to hold her up but she couldn’t pull them over her boots and--

“Damn pants,” he cursed, and she was pulling him against him, trying to rise on her toes, but that wouldn’t work either.

“It’s not my fault I can’t wear a skirt onto a battlefield,” she hissed, breath catching when he grasped her hips, turning her around so her back was to him.  And then it was his name she was hissing, because he was tugging her underwear the rest of the way down, nudging her legs apart.

He bent slightly over her shoulder and she realized what he was doing, reaching back for purchase, hand clamping to the back of his neck.  The bond was pulsing between them in the mix of their wanting, some of the tension easing when he pushed into her. She wanted to groan, long and low at the stretch of him filling her, but clamped her lips shut, instead pushing down the bond what she wanted to do, the noises she wanted to make for him.

Despite their hours in bed together over the past two nights, she was still getting used to the feel of him in her, wondered if it would be anything less than intoxicating. He started slow, letting her adjust with an easing rock of his hips into hers. 

It made her want to know what it would feel like to be on her hands and knees for him, and she pushed that desire down the bond too.

He muttered a curse at the mental image of him behind her in that massive bed of his, bending low over her and grasping her hips as he filled her.  “As soon as we have a proper bed,” he promised, pressing his face into her neck to kiss her skin.

She was folded so tightly into him, chest hard behind her, one arm wrapped around her middle to hold her steady as he thrust into her, that she panted with the blood coursing through her veins, the sticky heat of the Spring night, the heat of his body against hers.  His motions weren’t sharp enough to be painful, only rough enough that her nails were digging into the leather of his gauntlets.

Every sound she wanted to make, every moan and whimper at the drive of his hips into hers, she directed down the bond. She wanted him to hear, wanted him to know that  _ this _ was what she wanted, that she was already close.

Eventually, when he’d quickened against her, growling and panting into her skin, she gave a tug on the arm around her abdomen. She nearly lost herself when he realized what she wanted, fingers pressing easily through her folds, finding what she wanted, back arching and a moan nearly falling from her mouth.

She was so close, so close, just needed the extra-- He rubbed quick circles over her, growling into her skin and she let out a breathless sound, fingers gripping his hair so tight he snarled, fingers moving faster, and then she was shattering against him, mouth falling open in a silent cry. 

He was the only one she’d let see her like this. Who she would completely give herself to because she knew he’d do the same.  The only person who she would let break her like this. 

He came moments later, hips snapping into hers, mouth parted against the bend between her shoulder and neck, muffling his groan. 

They stood, panting and practically shaking, each braced against the other. Nesta stroked the arm wrapped around her, jolting and shuddering when he withdrew his fingers from between her thighs.  

It didn’t take them long to clean up, straightening their clothes back into place. “As soon as we have a proper bed again, sweetheart,” he promised, again, wrapping one arm around her waist before dropping over the edge of the bough and gliding to the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> please comment!!  
> Join me in my trashcan on [tumblr](http://pterodactylichexameter.tumblr.com)!


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